


you’re an asshole (i like that in a man)

by hanjisungsslut



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Bad Boy AU, Eventual Romance, Fight Club - Freeform, Fighters, Fighting AU, Flirty Lee Minho | Lee Know, Friends to Lovers, Han Jisung | Han & Lee Felix are Best Friends, Han Jisung | Han-centric, Happy Ending, High School AU, Humor, Implied underage drinking, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Instant Connection, M/M, No Angst, Slow Burn, assholes to lovers, but no it isn’t, he’s kind of a little shit, idiot to lovers, minsung beat up homophobes, slight homophobia mention, some blood, these tags make it seem dark, vaguely set in america
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 56,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26852452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanjisungsslut/pseuds/hanjisungsslut
Summary: If you were to ask around about the name Han Jisung, the answers you got would be diverse. “Stereotypical”, “Bad boy”, “Strong”, “Intimidating.” None of these answers were false, if you were to ask Jisung himself. What most of his peers know of him tends to fall under the category of “swing first, talk later.” Because Jisung, in all his pride and glory, is a fighter.He runs a tight ship or him and his two friends, all of which are known to protect the school from the homophobes. And it’s become quite a habit.With the arrival of Lee Minho, an edgy and quiet boy, comes Jisung’s new fighting partner—and maybe, his new challenge.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam, Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Minor Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Felix - Relationship, Minor Kim Seungmin/Seo Changbin - Relationship
Comments: 33
Kudos: 431





	you’re an asshole (i like that in a man)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aceminho](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceminho/gifts).



> hello hello hello!!!  
> it is here, the well anticipated new fic and look how long it is! what a long boy. this is a fighter au, it’s from the sentiment “minsung beat up homophobes” and i turned it into a fic with a few fun additions. 
> 
> TW:  
> \- homophobia  
> \- violence  
> \- blood (just a bit!)  
> \- fighting  
> \- drinking (implied underage)  
> \- foul language
> 
> this fic has a list of trigger warnings longer than most of what i write because this is a fighter au. BUT, it is ultimately light and fun. i took a scene and based it on life is strange, hope you caught the reference! today has been difficult for me if you’ve seen my twitter, it’s not going wonderful so some nice comments would be appreciated. so anyway, thanks for reading.  
> enjoy!

Jisung wouldn’t say he's a problem child.

His principal disagrees, so does his biology teacher from sophomore year but in his defense, she is a raging bitch and Jisung has no filter. Maybe his math teacher from freshman year would agree too, but he doesn’t work at the school anymore. The world may never know his true opinion of Jisung. 

Tragic. 

If you were to ask around about the name Han Jisung, the answers you got would be diverse. “Stereotypical”, “bad boy”, “strong”, “intimidating.” None of these answers were false, if you were to ask Jisung himself. What most of his peers know of him tends to fall under the category of “swing first, talk later.” Because Jisung, in all his pride and glory, is a fighter. 

He likes fighting, to be honest. Starting fights and ending them are both Jisung’s forte, he doesn’t really prefer one tactic to the other. He can start fights over things as simple as shoving and as catastrophic as homophobia and racism.

He considers himself a hero. Others consider him foolish for tarnishing what would’ve been a spotless record. 

Jisung never minds it though. He figures all his fights will make for a unique college entrance essay. Besides, who would turn away someone as handsome as himself? Nonsense.

His reputation and overall record of never losing a single fight keeps his name in and out of his classmates’ mouths. Nobody dares to speak ill of him, for an ass-kicking would be in their near future if it reached Jisung’s ears. However, there are a lot of unclear rumors floating around about him from week-to-week.

Most of it is preposterous and inaccurate, but out of fun, he neither confirms nor denies anything that goes around. It is the best part of his day to sit in a classroom, surrounded by his fellow students, half of which believe him to participate in monthly sacrificial rituals in the deep woods, and the other half who think he has seven toes.

He keeps his reputation intact by associating with very few people. Jisung isn’t necessarily rude, he’s actually kind of loud once somebody breaks his shell, but there is a very clear and very visual air about him that flashes red. Chan says it’s just his face. 

Bang Chan, a theater-trained senior who usually dresses in all black, is one of the few people Jisung actually finds himself around regularly. Chan is taller than him, a little more muscular, and carries a father-like sternness when he speaks. Chan was Jisung’s first friend when the younger moved to their current small town in sixth grade, and he surprisingly remained by his side for all these years.

Seo Changbin, the second and final member of their trio, is in the same year as Jisung. He wears darker clothing, like they all do, but his attire is never complete without a pair of headphones around his neck. Changbin isn’t as scary-looking as he likes to tell himself he is, but the people he’s around put up a shield around him.

It is these three that were for sure “going places” as his teachers expressed. Without fail, Jisung always managed to reply, “Yeah, jail is a place.” He didn't always get the reaction he wanted, but you win some and you lose some.

After one particular summer of pissing off his neighbors until they called the cops and setting off fireworks at ungodly hours of the morning, Jisung is ready to set his life back into routine. It’s hard to start fights with the football team when you never see them. Summer is a grace period for them, and Jisung is all too ready to end it.

Of course, academically, eleventh grade is rumored to suck, but if he could survive biology, he could get through anything. Chan has managed to pull some strings at the office and get the three of them on the same lunch block. By “pull some strings” Jisung means Bambam. 

Ah, Bambam. Their favorite office aide and Chan’s favorite classmate. Not many people are particularly nice to Chan, they’re mostly tolerant because they know who he is friends with. However, despite his personality being a complete one-eighty from Jisung’s, they are still grouped together. 

Jisung never stops feeling bad about that, but Chan assures him it’s fine. Bambam is the only classmate of Chan’s who doesn’t seem to care who his friends are, or if Jisung will try to kick his ass. Jisung would never, but Bambam’s defiance of him in the name of friendship sticks with him anyway.

He doesn’t personally interact with the office aide that much, and if he did, it is small conversation while waiting for his parents to pick him up. He thinks Bambam is pretty cool, regardless. He doesn't send him suspicious glances or alert the principal every time he breathes wrong, unlike the other office aide named Maddie. He hates that bitch.

Still, he is glad Chan managed to pull those “strings,” because it gives them an extra twenty-five minutes of bickering. That is all they ever do, bicker. Chan acts more like a father than a friend, but Jisung appreciates his concern. It’s just wasted on such a lost cause.

“Every year, I forget what your face looks like without bruises and busted lips.” Chan remarks, the underside of his tray slapping against the table in unceremonious clatter. Jisung raises an eyebrow, sticking his fork into a cube of honeydew and popping it in his mouth.

“Don’t get too used to it. This clean slate will be bleeding and battered by 2 P.M.” He chews on the honeydew with a flat expression. Chan looks equally unimpressed.

“Just try to avoid getting hit in the eye again. I don’t like having to stare at that mess while I eat.” His warning leads to an eye roll from the younger of them.

“Your concern is so touching.” He snorts and Chan just shrugs. The older of the two is used to it by now, and he knows if Jisung needs first aid, he’ll be there in the blink of an eye. That doesn’t mean he likes playing doctor, though.

Changbin approaches the table, black locks stuffed underneath a black beanie. He walks with his headphones around his head, but slides them down to his neck and hits a button on his phone as he approaches. He swipes an apple slice off Chan’s plate while he sits.

“Y’all seen the new kid?” His mouth full of apple as he asks. Chan places a napkin in his hand without even looking at him. Jisung shakes his head for both of them.

“He’s a senior,” Changbin continues while dotting the corners of his mouth, “his name is Lee Minho. He’s pretty attractive.” 

Jisung frowns. “Is he actually attractive or “I live in a small town with three decent-looking people” attractive?” 

“See for yourself.” Changbin directs his attention to the front doors of the cafeteria, where a tall boy has his back towards them. He’s talking with the principal, small talk of some sort. From the back, Jisung can only see the army green jacket and the brown hair. 

The conversation ends and the boy turns, his side profile coming directly into view. Woah. Changbin is right, he is attractive. 

The boy—Lee Minho—has a sharp jawline and a sculpted nose. His lips pull down at the corners, making them look pouty and his eyes are round and wide. Jisung is pretty sure this is the most attractive guy to ever step foot in their town. 

“Yeah, he’s actually attractive.” He fails to keep the strain from his words, but neither of his friends notice. Jisung never has interest in anyone he meets. Chan tried to set him up on a date once or twice but he blew both of the girls off. He felt nothing when he spoke to them on the rare occasions that they did speak to him. Chan even proposed once to set Jisung up with a guy, but he waved him off.

He discovered that he’s gay in eighth grade, but it still isn’t a fact he has shared with his friends. He knew they wouldn’t care, probably wouldn’t even be surprised, but it is something he prefers to keep to himself for now. It isn’t out of shame, but out of laziness.

Jisung’s curious eyes follow the new kid, who he concludes to be a walking god, as he trods through the bustling cafeteria. Jisung doesn’t approach people, his two friends approached him first and he only kept them around because they were harder to shake than fleas, but he is seriously debating hitting on this boy. Reputation be damned.

The thought is fleeting, any evidence of it being pushed away by the intrusion of his personal space. Changbin shifts closer and mulls over the assortment of fruits Chan has on his plate. Jisung whacks him away, forcing him to back up. 

“Are you coming to the season kickoff game tomorrow night?” Chan asks out of the blue, “It would be a good chance to pick a fight with someone other than the football team.”

The last part is directed at Jisung, who waves a dismissive hand. His eyes float to the long table of snobs in letterman jackets by the stage. He smirks.

“I don’t need any practice.” His voice comes out in a snarl. The football team is as cliché as they can get.

They wear their jerseys everywhere they go, leaving behind a smell of sweat and meat. They are so convinced they are untouchable, but Jisung has fought every one worth mentioning by now, and none of them could stand a proper opponent. His personal favorite is the quarterback, a boy in his grade with an ego bigger than Chan’s left bicep.

“So, I take it that's a no?” Chan brings him back to reality with an arched eyebrow. Jisung pretends to think. 

“That’s a hell no. I’m not going.” 

+++

Jisung ends up going. 

He is determined, in the first few hours, to stick to his word and not give into temptation. But the promise of a fight with a neighboring school is just too good to be true. If he’s able to sneak in without getting seen, he can get in a few good punches before the coaches and staff rush over. 

Intentionally, he doesn’t tell Chan he changed his mind. As supportive as he is, Chan is his friend before anything else, and he often keeps a firm hand on Jisung in public spaces. Something about the authorities, or whatever that junk he spews is about. 

He tells Changbin, partly because he knows he won’t care and partly because he might need somebody to bail him out of jail by the end of the night. All he gets in response is a short lecture about Jisung needing his “adrenaline fix” and Changbin declares himself Switzerland in the whole thing. It is appreciated.

Sneaking in isn’t difficult, but it takes practice. A large fence surrounds the football field, then there is a running track surrounding it and the stands on each side. The concession stands are at the top of the bleachers and a huge fence surrounds the entirety of the arena. Going through the front is not an option if he wants to be sneaky.

Luckily, there is a place beyond the field where people like to park. From there, it’s easy to slip around through the cars and climb the fence. He has done it a million times before in his high school career, and he has mastered it by now. 

Once inside the fencing, he makes a beeline for the concession stand, where he knows his favorite worker of all will be. 

Blond hair comes into view as he approaches the crowd, a smiling freckled face meeting his gaze. Behind the counter, he calls for another worker to take over for a few minutes while he steps away. Jisung hangs by the entrance of the stand.

“Do you have what I asked for?” The uncharacteristically deep voice cuts through any form of silence. Jisung glances at the boy, and holds up a folded piece of paper. The boy takes it.

“How do you want to get paid this time?” Felix asks, his back against the frame of the makeshift door. His eyes skim the paper, a compiled list of questions that would be on the summer reading test tomorrow. 

“Blue sour straws.” 

Felix leaves the doorway for a minute, then comes back with the box of them. He slaps them into Jisung’s awaiting palm and grins.

Jisung doesn’t consider Lee Felix, straight-A student and sunshine boy to the core, to be a friend. He is simply a business partner. However, he can’t deny being somewhat fond of the boy, who proves to be not nearly as innocent as everybody thinks.

“Same time next week, Lee?” Jisung teases. He rakes over the identical packages, fingers brushing smooth plastic. He pulls one from the bottom, tearing it open with his teeth as Felix hums a yes to his question.

“Hyunjin will have my head if I don’t get running.” The blond pockets the folded note, and kicks off his perched position on the wall. 

“Well, then you’d better get running.” Jisung empties the box into the backpack he keeps hidden behind the wooden stairs leading up to the press box. How nobody has figured out where he hides it, he will never know. Felix retreats back inside the concession without so much as a goodbye.

Keeping tabs on Changbin is the only way to avoid Chan tonight. It doesn’t help in the slightest that Changbin is the worst texter in history. Jisung doesn’t understand half of what is said, but reading between the lines helps him out a bit. He finds that Chan is a hard person to avoid. 

Almost everywhere he goes, he finds himself flattening his back to the nearest wall or pivoting on his heel and running away. How Chan hasn’t spotted him yet, he has no idea. There is one thirty-minute interval where Jisung ends up crouched behind the railing to the bleachers and watching the track below for any signs of his friend.

Chan is nowhere to be seen, but he does spot someone else of interest.

The new kid—Lee Minho—is down at the track, the same army green jacket hanging from his shoulders and framing his body. He is leaned up with his back against the fence to the football field, both elbows propped on the thin wiring as he chats with a boy Jisung doesn’t recognize. His hair blows in the subtle wind, cascading across his forehead in thick strands.

The boy in front of him turns and Jisung catches a glimpse of his profile. Kim Seungmin, the only kid in the class to ever challenge Felix for top spot, is standing next to the new arrival. He is dressed like Felix, the same sweater vests and long pants and nice shoes that irritate Jisung with their shine, but he doesn’t wear the smile Felix always does.

Jisung watches their conversation out of boredom, though he can’t even try to read their lips. Minho doesn’t look interested in whatever Seungmin is saying, but he isn’t really showing any sign of emotion at all. He is stoic, cold.

Before he can get too wrapped up in admiring—what? No, he isn’t doing that—the other boy’s face, a hand clamps down on his leather-clad shoulder and Jisung nearly jumps out of his skin. Chan stands behind him, soft smirk on his face and grip tightening in the material of his jacket. Changbin is nowhere to be found.

“Nice trick. Trying to get Bin to keep tabs on me is smart, but I know how to evade him. Come on, no fighting football players on the first night of the season.” Chan doesn’t leave room for argument, he hardly ever does. He uses his iron grip to bring Jisung to his feet and keeps hold as he drags him back to the fence.

Chan all but throws him over with a cheeky wink and turns back inside. Jisung pulls himself from the gravel, dusting at his jeans and jacket with heavy hands. The thought of jumping the fence again rakes through his mind, but the thought dies as quickly as it comes. Chan found him easily the first time, he would find him even easier the second.

There is nothing of interest left at the game, so Jisung makes his way home. A video game controller awaits his arrival and he very quickly launches himself into a fantasy realm for several hours that night.

+++

The weekend has come and gone, and class is back in session Monday morning. Jisung slips half of the first period and shows up very late with breakfast and a forged office slip. His teacher doesn’t know him well enough yet to know that this would be a regular occurance.

Lunch proves to be eventful. 

It starts like lunch normally does. It is much too early in the school year for suspension, so Jisung is planning his attacks on the football team very strategically. Chan is talking his ear off about some skit they’re doing in drama class and Jisung’s once divided attention becomes undivided with the arrival of Lee Minho.

Jisung can’t help himself as his eyes followed Minho up the long strip of open space between the tables. He still has on that army green jacket, similar to the leather one that Jisung wears. Neither of them notice the football player approaching.

As quick as lightning strikes, Minho flies into a table, his stomach slamming against the side. The player who pushed him stands behind him, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. The sight is damn near unbearable. 

Suspension doesn’t matter.

Jisung stands up in his seat, totally prepared to go cause a scene and finally get his chance at swinging after months of not having a face to target, but he doesn’t need to. Minho, bent over the table and face hardened, grabs one of the gray trays from the table.

He rears back, the tray colliding with the player’s head and making a _smack_ thunder through the lunchroom. Gasps can be heard from every direction. Some people are recording, most just watch.

The player collapses, his nose making contact with the cold tiles of the cafeteria floor. Minho stands over him, tray in hand and a bored look on his face. He regards the player with what appears to be a sigh of complete unamusement. 

Another player nearby lunges at Minho, who dodges him narrowly and grabs the back of his head, slamming his nose to the tabletop and tossing him aside like a doll. Jisung feels a hand on his arm and slowly feels himself being lowered to his seat in awe.

He and the rest of the lunch sit silent, dazed and confused as they watch Minho move. The third and final player at the scene swings his left fist, but the new kid is too fast for him. In three seconds flat, he executes a kick-punch-takedown maneuver and lays the player out on his back. As a finishing touch, Minho grabs the boy by the collar and throws him head-first into the nearest trash can. 

The grand finale comes when he kicks it down the aisle. 

It rolls all the way down, toward where the teachers sit at the front of the room. The vice principal standing by the doors catches the rolling garbage with one hand. He doesn’t even look surprised.

“Mr. Lee,” He calls out amongst the many whispers, “care to explain what is going on here?”

Minho says nothing. 

One quick motion of the vice principal's hand and Minho is starting for the door. He keeps his mouth closed and his eyes focused the entire way down the aisle. Jisung admires his ability to block everything out.

The whispering picks up more and more until it is once again unbearably loud in the cafeteria. Jisung’s table is stunned into silence, not that anyone around them noticed. Following Minho’s exit, the school nurse comes running to the room, doing her very best to attend to the two boys on the ground. 

Everyone is either looking at her or at videos of the fight. Nobody seems to pay much attention to anything else. Until they do.

It is one of the few fights Jisung hasn’t been involved in at their school. Sure, fighting is a regular occurrence with public school and it could break out over absolutely nothing, but it is universally known that Jisung is _always_ involved. He doesn’t even have to know what they are fighting about, doesn’t even choose a side. He just throws punches and then leaves.

Sometimes, his interference ends the fight between the original disputers as they team up on him. Those times, he likes to refer to himself as a martyr. Chan says he is stupid.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve watched a fight instead of joining it.” He voices his train of thought aloud to a silent table. Chan chews on a meatball while he mulls it over.

“It happened pretty fast,” He shrugs his shoulders, “besides, it doesn’t seem like Minho needed your help.” 

That much is true. It still hasn’t fully processed in Jisung’s head. Lee Minho, the new kid who is a walking god among them, is a fighter. He is too skilled, too practiced and smooth to not be. He is just like Jisung.

“There isn’t much you could’ve done anyway.” Changbin pipes up. Jisung flinches at the sudden voice. He forgot Changbin is even at the table. 

He picks a grape from his own plate and tosses it at his friend. It bounces off Changbin’s forehead and rolls across the table. The bickering starts there and Jisung is thankful for the dismantling of silence.

+++

Jisung never hesitates to get involved in a fight.

It doesn’t matter who, why or when. If there are fists swinging, Jisung’s will be one of them. He isn’t sure why exactly he likes fighting. He doesn’t like hurting people, that isn't it. He isn’t a fan of blood or broken bones either, his or theirs. He also doesn’t really like walking around with his face bruised and beaten on the occasion that he did get hit back.

Truthfully, he likes to fight for one reason. It is the rush of adrenaline he gets from it. 

It started in middle school, when Jisung had a lot of pent-up anger that he didn’t know what to do with. He kept it bottled up inside of himself, never letting it boil over, until one day in seventh grade math class when Hyunjin decided to pick an unnecessary fight out of pettiness. What would’ve been a normal verbal attack turned physical quickly and Jisung didn't even realize what was happening until he was on top of the other, fists flying.

He felt bad about hurting Hyunjin, but they made up soon after. They were both still suspended and when they returned to school, both had an agreement to just ignore the other. 

After that, Jisung spent the entire rest of his middle school career throwing punches and wrestling on the floor. 

He isn’t a bully, he never picks on kids or tries to mess with anyone intentionally. 

Jisung is an asshole, but he isn’t evil. 

He follows a code. Any day of the week, he can take on racists, homophobes, misogynists, any variation of assholes you can throw at him. He does it gleefully, loving the feeling it gives him to fight, but he never picks on the innocent. In a way, he protects them, by making himself a much bigger target and standing up for the things they would get bullied for.

Some people might think of him as a hero. Most people think of him as an adrenaline junkie or overly aggressive. It is what it is.

It carried on into his high school years , any chance of a fight happening a guarantee to get Jisung at the scene. He would jump in a fight like it is a boxing ring. 

Jisung never hesitated to get involved in a fight _before._

Before he is walking to his agriculture class, the stupidest elective he could’ve possibly taken. It is in an entirely different building and he has to go through the cafeteria if he wants to make it there. He doesn’t, but the teacher has heard his name and is a real hard ass about letting him be late, even with a pass.

Jisung never hesitated to get involved in a fight, before he rounds the corner of the agriculture building. A football player, the same one as before who shoved Minho into a table, is being pinned against the wall by his neck. The person pinning him is none other than Minho himself, back for round two.

Jaejoong, the asshole in question, is known throughout the school for being quite possibly the biggest bigot to ever roam the halls. He is every form of bad a person could be, every form of intolerable. Jisung has kicked his ass a few times, mostly just for fun. What could he say, Jaejoong has a very punchable face.

Briefly, Jisung’s mind drifts back about twenty minutes to his last class. 

Art is one of the few classes Jisung actually likes. Not necessarily the drawing part, he finds all the rules and guidelines to be boring, but the teacher is his favorite in the whole building. A thirty-something caffeine addict runs the class, though “runs” is being generous. She mostly just shows up, draws on the board and tells them to copy it. He loves her lack of energy. 

_“I know you told me to let it go, and I promise I will after I ask this one question,” The start of his sentence earns him an immediate sigh from Chan. They’re lucky to get a class together this year, and here his best friend is, sighing at him._

_“What is it?” His index finger and thumb pinch the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t even bother looking at Jisung, instead, he keeps focused on the lines he is drawing._

_“Why did the team pick a fight with him? They obviously started it but he’s been here for like two days. What did he do?” His inquiry causes Chan to freeze in his spot. The line he is drawing goes off course, making a strange loop._

_“You know better than anyone that Jaejoong doesn’t need a reason. In fact, he rarely has one.” Chan replies and begins redrawing the lines he is working on._

_“That’s true, but it doesn’t make any sense for him to target the new kid when he hasn’t even spoken yet. He looks weak by doing that.” Jisung doesn’t say it, but he personally thinks Jaejoong always looks weak. Jaejoong is weak, just big-mouthed._

_“If I tell you this, you cannot tell anyone else.” Chan puts down his pencil, leaning in close to Jisung’s ear._

_“Who am I going to tell? My hamster?” Jisung whispers back. Chan gives him a firm glare that has him nodding in agreement. He hesitates._

_“We played Minho’s old school last Friday. And during some smack talk on the field, one of the players made some comment about us having to “deal with” their resident gay kid.”_

_Jisung furrows his brows. Well, that is certainly not the answer he is expecting._

_“How do we know he is talking about Minho?” He asks._

_“Minho is the only transfer this year. It just makes sense, being his old school and all.” Chan shrugs and leans away, going back to his drawings._

_That makes more sense. Jaejoong is a royal asshole, Minho being anything Jaejoong doesn’t want him to be would make him violent. Only he apparently didn’t figure out everything there is to know about Minho before picking a fight._

Jisung is brought back into the present when said asshole groans in pain. Jaejoong collapses to the ground for the second time that day, his bloody and bruised nose busting yet again. He now sports a black eye and bleeding lip to go with it. Jisung has seen Jaejoong in worse shape, has put him in worse shape, but the look of defeat on his face makes him look worse than Jisung ever could have.

A feeling takes over Jisung’s body, something close to discomfort and he realizes all too late that what he feels is the piercing eyes of Lee Minho on his frame. He raises his gaze from the crippled boy on the ground to the unscathed one staring. And holy fuck, is Jisung gay.

Minho isn’t very much taller than him, an inch or two maybe, but he feels like a giant looking over his nose. His eyes are cold and lifeless, yet they possess a mysterious quality like an abyss that has Jisung willing to fall into them. The expression on his face says nothing about his thoughts, and his pouty lips are drawn into a frown. Jisung watches him silently, unmoving and unwilling to show emotion of his own.

Minho breaks eye contact first, leaning down to grab the pummeled boy by the collar and hurl him at Jisung’s feet. He lands a few inches in front of the dirty leather of Jisung’s combat boots. Jaejoong turns over in pain, but makes no move to get up. Jisung looks back up at Minho and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Kind of a shitty gift, don’t you think?” He gets no reaction, but stands his ground, “I don’t want the trash either.” 

Talking to Minho is like talking to a brick wall. He gives no emotion nor reaction to Jisung’s jokes for several intense seconds and the latter wonders if he’d just secured his own ticket to fighting the boy. However, after those several moments pass, he gets a reaction.

The corner of Minho’s lips lift into a subtle smirk and he breathes a short singular chuckle. It isn’t much, nothing compared to what Jisung usually gets, but it is saying a lot that he broke his exterior. The boy shakes his head and turns away, not giving a second glance to Jisung.

Jisung watches his back as he leaves, watching until he turns the corner and disappears, and even then, he watches the corner for a few more seconds. Jaejoong groans on the ground, clutching his forearm in a daze. His voice annoys Jisung.

“Oh, shut up, you bigot.” He sends a swift kick into Jaejoong’s stomach for final measure and side-steps the body. He wishes he had it in him to feel bad for the kid, but he feels no sort of remorse. Going after a kid because of his sexuality and getting your ass handed to you on a silver platter goes hand-in-hand in Jisung’s book. 

He starts for the door to the agriculture building, but stops in his tracks when the bell rings before he reaches it. He knows the teacher won’t let him in, there is no need to even try it.

Fuck it. 

He skips agriculture that day.

+++

There is something alluring about Lee Minho.

No word in the dictionary or supernatural creature could explain the enigmatic thoughts that the other invoked. He’d only seen Lee Minho a few times, and yet the boy plagues his mind night and day, the mystery surrounding him like a puzzle missing its key pieces. 

Jisung shouldn’t be so consumed with the thought of the senior. Lee Minho is nothing more than a boy who transferred schools, a boy who doesn’t let himself be walked all over, a boy whose silence makes him dangerous. Lee Minho is nothing more than a boy. And yet, Jisung gets stuck on him.

The second time he stumbles upon Minho throwing his fists, it is at an entirely different person. Baseball team outfielder and arguably the most attractive guy in the sophomore class, Eunho, is being held up against the bleachers by two strong hands. One is wrapped around his throat, the other securing his left leg. 

Jisung doesn’t even have to look at the figure in question to know who it is. He watches the scene unfold in quiet interest. The last two times, he hadn’t really been thinking to analyze the way Minho fought.

Eunho pushes off the post by driving the heel of his shoe into Minho’s stomach. It doesn’t look like it hurts as much as it should, which Jisung chalks up to either weakness on Eunho’s part or endurance on Minho’s. Eunho swings at Minho’s face, who blocks his fist and headbutts him instead.

He is skilled and confident. The distribution of weight and balance is a make or break component of fighting and Minho has it down expertly, showing his years of practice. He keeps his body moving, light as a feather. 

Despite the blood and violence, fighting is truly an art form. Not everyone can fight, most people can’t, but to be an expert requires just as much time as required for any other sport. It also comes with a much bigger penalty. Lose a game, who cares, but lose a fight, you might die.

Fighting is an art form and Minho is an artist.

Being caught up in his own thoughts of the homosexual agenda almost embarrasses Jisung. He returns his focus to the scene at hand. Eunho somehow manages to narrowly avoid a punch thrown at his head and his fight or flight response activates. He chooses flight.

The sophomore comes barreling toward Jisung, eyes on the ground and hands cupping his crushed nose. Jisung can’t see the blood, but he knows it is there. Eunho doesn’t even notice Jisung standing there from the looks of it.

Jisung, an egoist, but most importantly a fighter, seizes the back of Eunho’s varsity baseball jacket as he attempts to flee. Maybe it’s an asshole move on his part, but he honestly can’t be bothered to ponder it. Jisung knows Eunho’s history of homophobic slurs and it makes perfect sense to him as to why Minho targeted him.

Instead of taking the opportunity to steal the glory of the fight, Jisung throws Eunho back in between himself and Minho. The older boy, now noticing his presence, has a downright aggressive curl to his lips. Jisung would hate to be on the other side of his swinging fist.

Eunho wipes at his bleeding nose with the back of his hand, smearing his own blood across his skin. Disgusting. 

“I don’t believe he’s finished with you yet.” Jisung smirks, his arms folding over his puffed out chest. Okay, so maybe he is feeling a bit big-headed right now but he has good reasoning.

“I’m not looking for your opinion, Han. Nor am I looking for trouble.” The lowerclassmen bites back, his face screwed up in a pained expression. Jisung chuckles, cracking his fingers against his palms.

“You didn't have to go looking for it, did you?” Jisung smiles wide, but it isn’t friendly. He knows the way he looks when he smiles like this. It is reserved only for when he is taunting someone before pummeling them. 

“It found you.” 

Those words leaving his lips are like flipping a switch. He and Minho both leap forward, the next few seconds becoming a confusing blur of events and fists and blood. Minho never makes a noise, not even when Eunho lands a kick into his shoulder. 

At one particular point that Jisung rather enjoys, Minho picks Eunho up from the ground, securing his arms behind him before thrusting him at Jisung like a toy. Jisung catches him, swings a punch at the right side of his jaw, and pushes him back. 

They continue for maybe ten minutes more, a constant game of who gets to land the punches, without speaking a single word. By the end of it, Eunho is too weak to fight back and they are mostly still intact from the fight. Jisung is tempted to say something, anything really, but Minho walks away before he gets the chance.

He doesn’t follow him. No matter how difficult it is to resist the urge telling him to go after him, like he is fighting gravity itself, he keeps his feet planted on the ground. 

For the second time, he watches Minho’s retreating form, the way he carries his shoulders so stern yet relaxed, like he has never been worried about a thing in his life. For the second time, he watches as Minho disappears behind a corner before he is able to move again. His mind commits the sight to memory.

He steps over the groaning, but still very much alive, boy on the ground and pulls his jacket tighter around his shoulders. He has more important things to think about rather than a boy, like the fact that he is late for math and the way he has yet to do Felix’s new assignment which is due in two days.

He shakes the image of Lee Minho from his brain temporarily, but he doesn’t let himself lose it.

+++

What should’ve been a one— or maybe two, possibly three— time encounter, soon becomes a regular routine. Jisung calls it the magnet effect, because everywhere he seems to go, he finds Lee Minho. Or, Lee Minho finds him.

No more than a day after Eunho returns to campus with nothing more than a broken nose, a vague doctor's note and a horribly bruised ego, Jisung finds himself yet again brought into one of Minho’s fights. Okay, so “brought” is a strong word, considering he basically inserts himself both times, but he can’t help that he keeps stumbling upon these scenes.

It doesn’t make sense to him, how they keep crossing paths. Minho isn’t in any of his classes, which isn’t a surprise but is also kind of a bummer. Not because Jisung wants to talk to him or anything. That definitely isn’t it. Haha.

Even without their schedules lining up, Jisung manages to run into the boy in the halls between almost every single class. It’s so bad, Jisung actually starts _showing up_ to class just to see if he will cross paths with Minho after. 

He mentions his dilemma—if you could call gay crisis a dilemma— to Chan briefly during art. He does not get the response he is planning on, which is something like “that’s strange” or “maybe it’s destiny.” No. Instead, he gets “why do you care so much?” and a very unappreciated accusing eyebrow. Because that is helpful. 

Needless to say, Chan isn’t much help and Jisung will never go to him for another problem again. Unless that problem is homework. Or bandaging. Or when he doesn’t know how to group up his landrey. Or when he needed a lab partner. Okay, so maybe Chan is helpful most of the time.

Changbin is not an option, as it seems his primary source of survival is making fun of Jisung. If he ever approached him with a situation like this, he would never live it down.

If their encounters make any sense to Minho, Jisung would never know. He never speaks, never makes so much as a grunt during fighting or after. He is a brick wall Jisung can’t manage to get through to.

In all fairness, Jisung probably comes off the same way. He is more of a talker, likes to taunt the homophobes before beginning his attack, but he knows when playtime is over. After the fights when Minho walks away wordlessly, Jisung never follows or calls out to him. He stays planted in his spot, or leaves seconds after as well.

Minho probably thinks he is just as weird. 

Any bigot Jisung has personally marked on his list makes Minho’s list too. Don’t get him wrong, Jisung is definitely up for round two, but he can’t help but find it strange. Homophobes, racists, incels. All the same people.

Jisung calls it something like fate, though he knows he is sounding like an idiot when he thinks that. To Minho, it is nothing more than a few fights, a common interest. Probably. Jisung doesn’t know what it is to him, he never speaks.

The thought occurs to him once that perhaps Minho doesn’t speak because he finds the whole thing weird. Jisung showing up at every corner, ready to fight is not exactly a fantastic look on him. Oh god, does Minho think he is being stalked? 

No, that can’t be it. 

Almost as often as Jisung inserts himself in Minho’s fights, Minho does the same. In all honesty, it seems like an unspoken competition to the younger. Maybe they’re caught up in a weird non-rivalry? He honestly doesn’t know.

The only thing he can really say for certain is that, for some unknown and off-the-wall reason, Minho has his back. And in turn, Jisung has his.

Their dynamic once again reiterates that Jisung doesn’t know what is going on. There is never anything exchanged between them, no lingering glances or verbal confirmations. Hell, they don't touch each other if they don't have to. 

And yet, Jisung can’t deny sort of liking the arrangement. 

He’s always been alone in fights, a conscious decision of his. He doesn’t like having to worry about another person, doesn’t like the drama and stolen glory that comes with a big scene. If one of his targets has a friend with them, Jisung takes them too, it never bothers him to fight alone.

Chan knows how to fight. He doesn’t get into many, really _any,_ fights on campus, but it is well known that he is fiercely protective over his friends. He is also built like Dwayne Johnson if he was eighteen.

Chan offers many times to tag along, just for backup. Jisung refuses everytime. He doesn’t like fighting with another anyway, it is too risky and he doesn’t have control over the fight with another person with him.

But then, Minho happened. 

The jealousy and the complications that usually came with teaming up seemingly doesn’t exist with him. He is never in Jisung’s way, never says that he is doing too much or not enough. To an on-looker, it would seem they were two parts moving in sync, dipping and blocking in fluid motions timed perfectly. 

Fighting alongside Minho isn’t like fighting alongside another person. It is like fighting alongside himself.

Throwing fists was always Jisung’s high. He likes the rush, the risk of losing even if he knows he won’t. He likes to fight because it gives him a feeling as close to euphoria as he’ll ever get. 

When Minho is there, it just turns up the dial to that feeling. He isn’t sure if it is some weird need to prove himself to the older or if fighting with someone so similar to himself just makes everything exhilarating, but he feels it every time. 

On the occasion one of them is struck, it is never a big deal. They don't flinch or rush to the other’s side to see if they were okay, they don't acknowledge it. Both jump back into the fight instantly, blood dripping or not.

But for Jisung, having Minho’s back means having a partner in (technically not) crime. 

It is Wednesday, around 10:15 and almost completely through the third period. The air outside is grossly hot and humid, it makes Jisung’s clothes feel stuck to his body. It is one of the worst heat waves they’ve ever experienced.

The back entrance of the school building is the loading dock for buses. A large white awning stretches over poorly placed concrete with faded chalk marking off which section is for which bus. There is a courtyard for outdoor eating, but only seniors are allowed to use it, though that doesn’t stop many lowerclassmen from tagging along with their older friends. 

Most of the classroom windows don't face this section, and that makes it a perfect blind spot for fights. It never takes a genius to figure out what started the fights, it is always Jisung or Minho these days. Security is scarce in the area and Jisung always figured it is the vice principal’s doing. He doesn’t seem to like Jisung much.

Jisung likes to hang around back there, it is a good place for trouble and escape at the same time. He is usually alone, everyone knows the back entrance is _his_ spot. It is a beacon for trouble, especially if you were a bigot.

It seems one person in particular didn't get the memo. Either that, or he simply doesn’t care. You can probably guess who that person is.

Just as Jisung turns the corner and steps out from under the awning, the sounds of groans and fists colliding with bone echo across the lawn. No peace today, it seems. 

In the middle of the courtyard, near where tables and trash cans are placed on concrete, Minho stands over the body of one of the only seniors Jisung hasn’t yet fought. Kim Byungjun, basketball star, isn’t intimidating. He is relatively quiet, and he’s never made Jisung’s list because of his lack of words.

However, he seems to be making a lot of noise now. Blood runs across the sidewalk like spilled water, his nose isn’t broken yet, but it isn’t far from it. Normally well-kept hair is skewed in different directions as he gasps for air from the ground. His eyes scan the lawn for help, but find only Jisung’s frame and are filled with fear.

As expected, his poor attempt to get up and defend himself turns brutal quickly. He rose to his feet, shaking and side-eyes Minho. The look the latter has in his eye is dangerous. Jisung stands back, about ten feet from the scene and watches what happens next. 

Minho’s fists dart out, slamming into the boy’s face one at a time. He stumbles back, but catches himself on a table. 

It is sunny out, and the light bathes the entire back entrance in its glow. Perhaps that’s the only reason Jisung is able to catch on to what happens. 

The light catches an object in Byungjun’s left hand and the second Jisung sees it, he knows what it is. It takes no more than three seconds for him to spring into action, grabbing Byungjun’s wrist in a death grip and twisting it behind his back. The boy withers and drops the knife to the ground.

A kick at the back of his knees has the boy kneeling on the ground in front of both of them. Minho’s eyes watch the knife as it falls and sits against the pavement. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t show any suitable reaction for someone who was almost stabbed.

Jisung doesn’t waste another second as he drives his elbow into Byungjun’s temple and he knocks out instantly. Using his sleeve, Jisung picks up the knife and throws it in a nearby trash can. 

“Attempted murder?” He remarks to the motionless body, “Somehow the assholes at this school keep evolving.” 

His eyes flicker to Minho, who is far too calm and far too bored. 

“You okay?” He hears himself asking. 

They don't talk usually, or ever. Minho is cold and emotionless and Jisung never tries to broaden their relationship to be anything more than it is. Still, murder is a little different than fighting and Jisung would’ve hated to witness the former.

Minho looks up at him, his eyes an endless void of nothing. He doesn’t even have the audacity to look shocked or thankful, he is just there. Jisung isn’t really sure what he was expecting out of the question.

Minho seems to be surveying him, tossing Jisung’s value to him over in his head. It makes the younger boy feel like a lab-rat. Slowly, Minho gives a curt nod and walks away before anything else can be asked. 

Jisung just stands there for several minutes, in complete and utter confusion. 

+++

“Did you hear?” 

Chan arrives ten minutes late to lunch, his tray slapping the table with a loud _whack_. The bags under his eyes are more pronounced than they had been the day before. He’s been working on his music again.

“Hear what?” Changbin answers for both him and Jisung. 

“Kim Byungjun is getting expelled and possibly arrested.” Chan is excited to be the first to share the news.

Jisung’s stomach hit the floor. Had the school installed cameras over the summer? Did Minho say something to the vice principal yesterday? No, that doesn’t seem like him. 

When Byungjun came to, did he tell someone what happened? It would be incredibly stupid since he attempted to stab someone, but he doesn’t really put it past him. Is Jisung going to have to speak to the cops now? 

“How the hell did that happen?” Changbin voices his thoughts. Chan takes a bite of an apple and pushes it into his cheek.

“Goeun, the girl from theater who’s always the lead in the school plays, told the V.P. yesterday that Byungjun tried to assault her in the locker room. She has video proof.” 

That shocks both of them. Changbin blinks several times before the information is processed. It takes Jisung a little longer.

That’s why Minho had been kicking his ass. Byungjun is a predator. 

“Her family is pressing charges?”

“Yep.”

The conversation shifts and Jisung is able to engage this time. They question Chan excessively about his music and his sleep schedule, two things which never seem to get along. He promises to get more sleep. He is lying.

Jisung is so busy talking to his friends that he never notices Minho doesn’t come to lunch that day. 

+++

Thursday morning, Jisung wakes up on time for class for once in his life.

His teacher will be surprised to see him, though no comments are made in his presence. It is unusual for him to show up before nine, let alone coming in _early._

The night before has filled him with anxiety. The image of the glinting knife in Byungjun’s hand, the look of malice he wore as he clutched it close to his thigh, his willingness to use it. If he hadn’t been there, would he have stabbed Minho? Would he have killed him? 

The thought is terrifying to say the very least and it kept Jisung awake for hours. By the time seven rolls around, he concludes there is no hope for him. He gets up, brushes his teeth and combs his hair down and throws on jeans and his leather jacket before heading down stairs.

“Oh,” He says as he entered the kitchen, his eyes suddenly growing very wide, “you’re home early.” 

His mother, barely two inches over five feet, is leaned against the countertop with a mug in her hand, smoke rising over the rim. She quirks an eyebrow at him and takes a long sip from her drink. They stand in heavy silence for several more seconds.

“The author got cold feet. Until Jeonghyuk is able to convince him to continue working with us, the book is on pause.” She sighs, long nails tapping against the ceramic mug. 

His mother is high up in a publishing company, which requires her to travel often and work late nights on the days she stays in town. Jisung doesn’t mind it, despite it being a bit of a cliche. She trusts him to take care of the house while she is away and he is mostly good at that. She never fails to regard his busted knuckles and bruised hands with a look of poorly concealed disgust, but she keeps her comments to herself.

“You think he’s going to agree?” Jisung asks. She screws her face up in thought.

“If anyone can convince him, it’s Jeonghyuk.”

His mother speaks confidently, but he can see the hesitance in her eyes. Publishing is hardly an easy job to have and it isn’t for the narrow-minded. He knows it is demanding, and the quiet thumps of his mother’s footsteps coming in at three when she would leave again at six doesn’t pass him by. He never gives her a hard time about it, or at least, he tries not to.

He feels bad sometimes, being who he is. Jisung knows his mother can’t afford the number of phone calls she has to take from his school principal, though they hardly call her anymore these days. She either assumes the school decided to just send him home or her son simply got better at hiding it. It doesn’t matter, her phone line is open for clients again and that is all that mattered.

“I should be off,” Jisung raps the tips of his fingers against the back of the barstool at the counter, “lots to be done.”

“You’re going in a little early, aren't you?” His mother looks unimpressed, “You’re hardly ever on schedule.” 

“Come on, Ma,” He nervously grins, gesturing with his hands out by his sides, “have a little faith. I’m a changed man.”

“Changed man.” She scoffs and took a sip of her coffee, “Try to keep the bruises off of your face for a while, Hyeongjae’s been asking when she can come over.” 

He replies with a fake salute and backs out of the kitchen. 

He has almost forgotten the reason for his punctuality on the way to school, but his memory caught back up with him in the school parking lot. There is a crowd around the entrance, where the lowerclassmen would wait for their parents to pick them up in the afternoons. Chan is standing toward the back of the crowd, eyebrows furrowed but not moving to get closer. He glances at Jisung as the younger slinked next to him. 

“Oh hey,” Chan clears his throat, “glad to see I was right.”

At Jisung’s look of confusion, he continued.

“The fight was already going on when I got here, I originally figured you had to be a part of it.” Chan shrugs and Jisung can’t be offended by his first assumption, “But then I remembered you rarely come in before nine.”

Chan looks back to the crowd, then the thought really processes and he looks back at Jisung. 

“Holy shit! You’re here before nine!”

Jisung rolls his eyes, the palm of his hand connecting with Chan’s muscular bicep. How does he even find time to work out? And why is he _so_ built?

The crowd around them all make a collective “ooh” sound and Jisung turns his attention back to the sea of people. It is strange for there to be a fight so early, especially when Jisung isn’t one of the fighters. Without saying a word, Jisung shoves through the bodies in front of him, all parting like the red sea when they see his face. They probably figure he wants in on the action. 

The first thing he notices is the body on the ground. 

Byungjun’s nose is bashed, his lip split and face coated in his own blood. It is difficult to see from the angle Jisung is at, but he is almost positive one of Byungjun’s arms is no longer fully functional at the moment. One of his eyes is already blackened and Jisung winces when a hard punch comes down on the other one. 

His eyes float upwards and he prays he wouldn’t see the face of the one person he knows it’ll be. Minho is sitting on Byungjun’s chest, looking next to bored as he continues wailing down. His jaw sports a nasty bruise and his cheekbone is split.

Chan appears by Jisung’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder to alert him of his presence. He looks to the scene in front of them and grimaces.

“I thought you said you didn’t let him get hit yesterday.” Chan whispers in his ear. They’d had the conversation last night before Jisung went home. He told Chan about Byungjun and the knife and how calm Minho had been.

“I didn’t.” Jisung can hear his own voice, how far away he sounds, but he isn’t really concerned with that. Maybe Minho had gotten the bruise in this fight.

“He didn’t.” The girl next to him says, and he realizes he must have said it out loud, “He blind-sided Byungjun this morning, he never got a single punch in.” 

She sounds disgusted as she says it and Jisung sees her flinch away with each punch. The girl makes a noise, a scoff or something, and then pushes through the crowd to escape. Jisung doesn’t blame her when he looks down at the scene again.

Jisung watches as one of Minho's punches hit Byungjun's jaw and his eyes roll back a little.

A scream erupts from his right.

“Someone get him off, he’s going to kill him!”

Byungjun is no longer conscious, but Minho doesn’t seem to notice. Jisung knows what it is like to only see red, it would be hypocritical for him to blame Minho for it, but he still has to stop him. When all you see is red, it’s all you will see until someone pulls a veil over your eyes and clears your vision.

He hears Chan’s hesitant “Ji…” right before he steps out of the circle. Everybody expects him to jump in, to either team up with Minho or decide to target him. More than likely, the audience expects the latter. They don’t know about their arrangement. 

Instead, Jisung gives them all a huge surprise when he loops his arms under Minho’s and pulls him off. Minho keeps thrashing around, still trying to hit Byungjun, or Jisung maybe, but is unsuccessful. Jisung can’t pin him down, he knows that. He will have to talk sense into him.

He leans down close to Minho’s ear, which proves to be a hard challenge with how he almost gets head-butted by a furious Minho. He tries again, tightening his grip under Minho’s arms.

“If you kill him in front of everyone, there will be no going back and no saving you.” Minho stops thrashing when Jisung’s words reach his ears. The crowd around them watches curiously, not understanding that Jisung is _talking_ to him. 

“He almost killed you, I know and I understand, but if you do this, there is no going back.” Minho cuts his eyes at Jisung, fury pooling in them like lava from a volcano. For a moment, Jisung figures Minho will swing at him next and he is prepared for the blow when he feels Minho shake his arms away.

He straightens his posture and his jacket, closing his eyes briefly to take a breath. When he opens them again, they’re empty, void of that rage he felt two minutes earlier. His sudden indifference makes Jisung’s head spin.

Minho nods once, somewhere between a thanks and an apology, before he exits the crowd through the same red sea Jisung had come through. Chan is at his side instantly, pulling him away from the scene. 

“What the hell did you say to him?”

“I told him the truth.” 

The crowd around them begins to disperse immediately, and Jisung knows what that means. He and Chan turn on their heels and run to the side entrance, ducking into their classrooms just before the last bell and narrowly avoiding confrontation with the principal. 

This, this is why Jisung never comes before nine. 

+++

For some godforsaken reason, Jisung can not stop thinking of the look on Minho’s face.

He knows Minho is intimidating, he saw that look first hand several times for the last few weeks, but he has never had those eyes lay on him before. It is almost enough to make him shrink away, and Jisung isn’t the type to back away from anything. But the rage in his eyes, the downright murderous glare he gave Jisung, sent shivers down his spine.

As much as the thoughts of Minho’s frightening gaze plague his mind, nothing is more suffocating than thoughts of the bruises on his face. Minho had not received them yesterday, yet showed up with them today. Did he get into a fight when Jisung wasn't around? Did it happen at the school? How did Jisung not hear about it? 

He is tempted to ask, but there is no way to bring it up. He and Minho aren’t friends, they aren't even really acquainted all that well. Besides, how would he even ask such a thing? “Hey Minho, I know we are barely even co-workers, but why do you look like somebody took a club to your face?” Obviously not.

The day drags on as it had before Minho arrived. Jisung isn’t a stranger to the stares of his classmates, the whispered inaccuracies and assumptions that follow every time a fight goes public. The stares he is receiving now seem different, misdirected. It is uncomfortable and even for someone like Jisung, it is enough to make him uneasy.

Minho skips the rest of the day. Jisung figured that much out when he walked away this morning, though it took the office three periods to discover his absence. The principal, old bat that he is, is none too happy about Minho’s aloofness. Jisung finds it amusing, very openly so.

When lunch rolls around, Jisung opts to skip as well. He takes care of business first, seeking out a guy he knows is bothering Lee Felix without reason. Felix is one of his clients and Jisung is always looking for a fight anywhere he could find one. A win-win. He doesn’t need much more reason to swing.

Even as the guy crumbles under the combined strength of his flying fists, he can’t find it in himself to get into the fight at all. Fighting alone seems awkward now, like he has forgotten how to move without knowing someone will back him. He still wins the fight, by an absolute landslide, but it isn’t his best.

His mind goes back to the bruises on Minho’s face as he gathers his bag and exits through the front. The office lady screams after him, not that he pays her any mind with the thoughts racing through his own. Why is he so bothered by the bruises? Why does he want to know so badly?

He boils it down to his own nosiness, his own need to be involved in anything that involved punches and bruising. The fact that Minho has gotten into two fights, neither of which involved him, is probably getting to him. That has to be it.

Chan is not surprised to hear that Jisung skipped, nor is he unaccustomed to collecting the younger’s work. He knows Jisung rarely did the work he is brought, but Chan brings it over every time regardless. It helps his conscience, he said. 

“Put a bandaid over your cheek tonight,” Chan holds the binder out with both hands, waiting for Jisung to take it. The younger rolls his eyes, his fingers wandering up to his cheek and lightly pressing on the cut. It isn’t his fault the guy had sharp nails.

“I’ll do what I can.” He dismissively waves, taking the binder from Chan and setting it aside. He knows he wouldn’t open it, there is no need in pretending he would.

Chan leaves after making Jisung promise to treat his wound. Jisung decides _not_ to give his friend a hard time for the hell of it, and just agrees rather simply. Even if he has no plans to do such a thing and they are both aware that promises hold no weight to him. 

He returns to school the following day, staying true to his after-nine rule. He tried being punctual, it very obviously isn’t for him. His fighting partner almost made him bare witness to a murder, did he even understand how terribly annoying a murder investigation would be? 

As much as Jisung fancies his close calls with law enforcement and reprimandation, he doesn’t exactly plan to get up close and cozy with full inquiries. An eye-witness like himself would’ve had to enter witness protection, or something equally as dramatic. Or perhaps, he would’ve been viewed as an accomplice. He isn’t sure he is built for prison.

Luckily, the front of the school isn’t swarmed with police and the pavement lacks a new blood splatter. He assumes he is safe from questioning, for now at least. 

Byungjun isn’t at school, not that Jisung expects him to be. After nearly facing death on a high school sidewalk, Jisung isn’t too sure he would ever want to return to school, much less the day after. Perhaps Byungjun does have some remaining part of his brain. 

However, Minho _is_ back, in all his busted-knuckle glory. That is actually a shock, his casual demeanor and barely stained face concealing yesterday’s events. On the surface, at least. Underneath, there is no erasing what happened and their classmates make that crystal clear in the ways they avoid him. Minho doesn’t seem to care, though Jisung can’t remember there being a thing Minho _does_ seem to care about. 

Chan slicks up beside him, Minho’s retreating figure the focus of most eyes in the corridor. Jisung doesn’t even glance at his friend, there’s only so many people who would dare acknowledge his existence right now. Chan is, of course, the exception.

“I heard the police went to his house last night.” Chan says. He doesn’t bother to keep his voice down, nor try to keep their conversation from reaching prying ears. 

“Figures. He did almost kill somebody at eight in the morning.” Jisung shrugs, his eyes following the army green jacket continuing down the hall and ducking into a classroom. 

“Key word being _almost._ ” 

Jisung turns away from the scene, not bothering with the amount of whispers that followed his departure. People will talk whether he is associated with the situation or not, and it is best to just let them talk. They don't need to know the extent of his relationship with Minho, anyway. Not that there is any relationship to know of, the man has never even spoken a word to him.

Quite tragic, really.

It isn’t deep, not actually. Minho doesn’t seem to speak a word to anyone in any case. Besides, their arrangement doesn’t leave room for a lot of words, that is sort of the entire point. They fight together, or really, they fight with each other. There is hardly any “togetherness” about it. 

And still, Jisung considers Minho to be his partner. At the very least, he is his accomplice. That is how the police would view it should they ever decide to look into the abnormal amount of bloody bodies and broken noses coming from their high school. He figures it is as good a term as any, and it makes them sound much cooler than “partners” did. 

His mother is none too pleased to receive a call regarding his unapproved absence the day before, though she can’t say she is shocked by it. Those calls mostly filled her voicemail, until it is full and left to never be emptied. She had, of course, thrown Jisung’s “changed man” speech back in his face over dinner.

She hasn’t said much to him otherwise, regardless of what she may have wanted to. She never said much about it, about any of it. He supposes that is for the better, he doesn’t need to have the heart-to-heart of why he chooses to fight, why he enjoys it. He lets her make her own assumptions and she lets him live his life the way he chooses.

A perfect arrangement. 

He goes through lunch today, Chan and Changbin arguing over an assignment they have received in music class. Jisung doesn’t pay them much mind. He never understands the specifics of their talents and he never attempts to. Instead, he watches the door of the cafeteria and waits patiently and silently for them to swing open and reveal the face he’s been waiting to see all day.

Minho is fashionably late, his usual timing. He is punctual, in a totally intentionally late way. It is amusing to everyone around them, deliberate tardiness is the equivalent to writing _fuck you_ on a sign and taping it to your forehead. Though that is Minho’s entire purpose, isn’t it? 

He strolls through the aisle, boots making soft thuds against the tile. He walks like he doesn’t notice the way the room has become a den of whispering, like he doesn’t mind the attention shining on him from doing something as simple as walking. He keeps his eyes forward, shoulders relaxed, fists clenched. 

There is only once that his eyes dare stray from their destination of the back table, only once he shows any sign of the human beneath his beastly shell. He cuts his eyes smoothly, never letting them drag or wander about. His gaze is sharp, purposeful as it lands directly on Jisung. 

The younger is used to murderous and intense gazes, conditioned himself never to react. He doesn’t flinch or acknowledge the fact that they are making obvious eye contact in a public area where everyone can see and talk. He doesn’t break the contact, the unspoken rule passing between them. 

There is something else behind the blank expression Minho wears. It is a message, one only Jisung is meant to receive and interpret. Minho broke their contact first and instantly they both return to normal, like it never happened. And the whispers around them pick up into soft conversation. 

Let them talk, he has a place to be after lunch.

+++

Jisung wishes he could say he is at all surprised to find Minho behind the agriculture building after lunch. The sight of a tattered letterman jacket beneath his kicking feet is hardly unusual. He was correct to assume this is what the look in the cafeteria has meant.

He doesn’t want to jump in just yet, this is Minho’s fight after all. Minho always lets him get his momentum going when _he_ starts the fight, it is only fair to repay such a generous favor. Besides, it is rare he finds a minute to watch the way Minho fights. From a distance, it is easier to see his moves, his confidence and borderline arrogance every time a kick or a punch lands. Cocky bastard, he is.

Somewhere in his admiration for the older, the boy beneath him seems to muster one last attempt to save himself. He pushes up on his knees, his elbow connecting with Minho’s thigh and pulls himself to his feet. Minho stares at him, blank, but firm enough to portray the only emotion he is capable of showing. Anger.

Perhaps desperation outweighs adrenaline, or maybe it’s the combination of both, but somehow the boy manages to wrap his dirty fists in the collar of Minho’s white button-up. He sends the older into the wall, his back and head both slamming hard against it. Minho doesn’t seem hurt, but the action seems to piss him off more. Like poking a bear.

Before he could react, Jisung decides to invite himself to the party. If Minho sees him, he shows no indication of it. A single tap on the boy’s shoulder has the letterman jacket swinging around to face him, annoyance painted on his features like a canvas. He registers Jisung’s face, only a split second before registering his fist crushing against his nose. 

Letterman jacket finds himself back on the ground, hands and feet scrambling to try and regain his leverage. In any ordinary scenario, Jisung would’ve given him the chance to stand, to even out of the odds. However, despite not actually seeing red in this moment, he finds himself genuinely ticked off for no good reason. Not any good reason he cares to share, anyway.

Minho pushes off the wall, the tip of his right shoe connecting with the boy’s side. The pained groan he lets out is instantaneous. It shouldn’t be satisfying, but it sends a pleased jolt through Jisung’s body. He has the decency to feel bad about it afterwards. 

He doesn’t have the decency to stop his foot from flying forward, his shoe stopping when it made contact with the boy’s groin. He practically screamed and had it been any louder, it would’ve resembled a wild animal. It probably still does.

He and Minho both stare at the player, as if daring him to try and stand. They’re both panting hard, and Jisung’s heart is beating so fast. Adrenaline courses through his veins, bringing on a slight headache. He loves the feeling, it’s the best one. He would do anything to feel this type of euphoria all the time.

He sneaks a glance up at Minho, attempting to mask his shock when he finds the older boy already looking at him. His bated breath mirrors Jisung’s own and the intensity of his gaze is enough to make a grown man cry. Jisung doesn’t, for the record.

There is a hint of a satisfied smile on his busted lips, the right side slightly curved upwards. It’s almost playful.

Jisung wants to say something, feels like he _has_ to say something. They’ve been covering each other’s asses, risking injury to themselves, to jump in when the other fights. Sure, it is easily reduced down to their equal desires to fight regardless of reason. However, a strange bond has formed already from it. But how does one start a conversation with the person you willingly put your life in the hands of almost everyday? 

“Hey…” He starts and he supposea that’s as good a place as any to begin, but his brain gets ahold of his mouth before he can and once control is gone, it’s gone, “so you’re gay, right?”

What the fuck, Jisung.

He isn’t sure what he expects the reaction to that to be, it certainly isn’t good. Minho doesn’t _seem_ shocked or angry, or really anything at all honestly. His face is blank and bruised, as it usually is, no cracks for his thoughts and emotions to seep through. An iron wall of neutrality. The only response he is offered is a raised eyebrow.

“What?” Minho says, though it definitely isn’t phrased like a question, “Are you going to try kicking my ass now too?”

Holy shit.

Holy shit, his voice is nothing like Jisung thought it would be but _woah_ is it attractive. It isn’t too husky or too deep and it fits him very nicely and it’s depth and lack of emotion made for a nice combination and that is hot— wait what? 

Minho continues, “Well, I’m sure the people would be interested to see it.” He places his leg behind him, his fighting stance. 

Jisung is quick to grab Minho's fist that comes flying towards his face. He manages to keep his cool, but inside his head, he is freaking _out._ He isn’t even sure _how_ he just did that. 

Minho’s speed is always insane, it is one of his strongest points. It’s terrifying as his opponent, but Jisung’s right brain supplies the most useless piece of information at that moment. _That’s hot_ it screams at him. Not now, gay thoughts.

He’s slightly confused by Minho’s expression, or lack thereof. He still isn’t angry or frustrated, even though his fist is literally an inch from Jisung’s cheek. The force of the punch kind of hurt Jisung’s palm on contact. What the fuck is Minho doing with all this bicep?

Regardless, Minho seems to recover from Jisung’s very impressive and very lucky catch and Jisung happens to know for a fact that Minho is equally as strong in both of his hands. He only has two, but his thighs are just as strong and he’s taken someone down with them before. What if Jisung going to do if Minho tries to suffocate him with his thighs, though he wouldn’t exactly mind that—not now, gay thoughts!

“No!” Jisung says, just as Minho tears his other fist back. He finally pulls an emotion out of the older. Confusion. _Nice_. 

Minho’s eyebrows knit together, his fist stopped, yet not lowered. He is still ready to knock the life out of Jisung if he says something stupid. Jisung knows this. Jisung is still scared, because stupid is all he knows how to do. But Minho is not the patient type and Jisung also knew that and he has already asked him if he is gay and yelled no in his face in the span of three minutes and yeah, Jisung is on thin fucking ice.

“Me, uh, I—“ He stammers, unable to string a single sentence together “...gay.”

Minho’s fist drops, but the look of pure bewilderment on his face does not. 

“I wish I knew what you just said, but alas, you make no fucking sense.” He sounds out of breath again, but Jisung can’t pinpoint from what. He would be out of breath too if he was talking to himself.

“Uhhhh….” He's trying to think of how to make this less awkward, “We— I.” 

He’s gesturing wildly without point, and he eventually just gives up. He lifts his arms above his head, pointing down at himself.

“Homosexual!” He shouts and it seems to click.

His hands fly to his knees, breath unsteady and sporadic as he stands, bent over. He doesn’t want to see whatever incredulous look Minho is no doubt regarding him with. His lungs feel like they’re about to collapse in on themselves, but he holds himself upright. Fainting in front of Minho would not be good for his street cred.

“I feel like I just ran a marathon.” He mumbled, the rise and fall of his chest making it harder to squeeze the words out. He isn’t sure why it took so much energy and sheer will to say one word. 

“I mean, you did just beat the shit out of somebody.” Minho sounded bored, maybe a little judgmental but in good spirit. At least, Jisung hoped it is in good spirit.

They both glance at the boy on the ground. He’s unconscious now. The thought crosses both their minds that maybe this conversation should be had elsewhere, but neither move. That’s a problem for tomorrow’s Minho and Jisung. Today’s Jisung is still catching his breath.

“Yeah, that isn’t tiring though.” He waves a hand, straightening himself. Minho turns to him, expression once again blank, yet a hint of curiously shines through the sea of darkness in his eyes. 

“Saying the word “homosexual” is exhausting the fuck out of you, but fighting athletes who outweigh both of us combined is a minimal task?” His voice sounds absolutely flabbergasted. Jisung can only nod. 

Suddenly, Minho bursts out into soft laughter. It is, again, nothing like what Jisung expected from him. It’s high-pitched and giggly and completely uncontrolled. Everything about Minho is uniform to the way he chooses to present, but his laugh is the one thing he seems to have no grasp over. He has cute bunny teeth too and his smile just highlights his features, he’s very pretty and Jisung is so very gay.

He clears his throat, but halfway through chokes on what he assumes is his own drool. He ends it with an awkward cough and that seemed to catch Minho’s attention.

“This is uhh…” Jisung can’t even form words right now. How embarrassing. He must look like a fool. Minho nods, like he completely understands.

“Weird? Yeah. We haven’t formally met. I’m Lee Minho.” He extends a very badly bruised hand. His knuckles are cracked and blackened, and Jisung doesn’t catch the wince that leaves his lips when he stretches his hand, but he can guess it is there. He very carefully shakes Minho’s hand. 

“Han Jisung.” He introduces himself, making sure to keep his touch almost ghostly, “Sorry for… being me?”

Minho laughs again. His eyes trail down Jisung’s body to his feet, the very obvious once over not even hiding the way his eyebrow twitches in assumed approval. Honestly, Jisung shouldn’t assume that look is approval. For all he knows, Minho could be tearing him apart internally. 

Jisung suddenly feels very hot. It’s hot outside, right? It’s thirty-six degrees. Wow, the heat in this kind of weather is fucking atrocious. 

“Not to sound like I’m trying to get out of here, but I’d rather not to be next to the body when someone inevitably finds it. It’s a bit incriminating, don’t you think?” Minho is grinning, the look on his face a complete 180 from what Jisung is used to. He looks human now, a lot less like his robotic persona. 

“Oh, right.” There is, in fact, an unconscious guy just a few feet away from them and it is rather damming to stay at the scene, “I suppose I should see you tomorrow?”

“If I bother to show.” Minho snorts and his steps are light as he moves past Jisung, regarding him one last time, “See you around, Han.”

He turns the corner and disappears. Jisung stands only a few seconds longer, before remembering the reason they were leaving. He walks casually back to the building, back to a class he knew he can’t focus in. His mind is too one-track and Minho’s name is the only train on it.

+++

Friday comes quicker than expected. 

Considering the usual problems are either expelled, hospitalized or too afraid to be the next one on the list, the number of fights has gone down by a little. It gives Jisung’s knuckles a well-needed break from their constant trauma, but he doesn’t get too used to the visual of untouched skin. They’ll be bruised again in no time. 

Changbin joins Chan and Jisung for lunch that day, his recent absence having created an awkward hole in their small group. It isn’t as much fun with only two bitter boys. 

He looks frazzled as he takes the seat opposite of Jisung, his eye-bags deeper, hair unruly.

“The fuck happened to you?” Jisung asks, immediately biting into his apple. Changbin meets his eye, not looking near as amused as he does in the slightest.

“Mr. Choi assigned a new project in environmental science.” Changbin says, as if that cleared every question in the world right up, he sighs and continues, “I went up to receive my partner assignment and what do you know, it’s fucking Lee Minho.” 

Jisung nearly chokes on the chunk of apple in his mouth. The name has been running his mind for several hours already, but hearing it spoken aloud makes a jolt run through his body. It is like knowing what sticking a fork in an outlet will do and doing it anyway.

“So, I go over to him and I stand by his desk to get his attention and he glances up at me and do you want to know what the little shit says to me?” Chan and Jisung both raise their eyebrows as an indication to continue and Changbin does, “He fucking glances up at me and says “If you’re trying to intimidate me, you’re going to have to be taller than a garden gnome.” Who the fuck says that? I wanted to kick his ass and I would have if it isn’t fucking Mr. Choi. He said if I get into another fight, I’m off the team.” 

Jisung holds in a snort, “You can’t kick Minho’s ass.” He says, almost involuntarily. Changbin gives him a confused look.

“Just because he won a few fights doesn’t mean he’s unbeatable.” He grumbles. Jisung shakes his head. 

“Not just a few. Every fight he’s gotten into. He’s fast and skilled. He’s too good.” Jisung takes another bite from his apple. Changbin glances between a bored Jisung and a suspiciously quiet Chan.

“You fought him, doesn’t you?” He says with a disappointed sigh. Jisung stops chewing.

“No.” He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, starting to feel the broken screw beneath his chair cause him to tilt left, “Not exactly. We’ve crossed paths… occasionally. I offered him a hand and he returned it. Nothing serious.”

Oh but it is serious. At least, in Jisung’s mind it is. There is a bond, a strange partnership that has forged between them. He likes to think of them as being partners in crime, though it is kind of lame and overused. He doesn’t realize how odd his statement must sound to his friends.

“How many fights?” Changbin doesn’t look convinced. He’s watching Jisung intently. Jisung has to think about his question for a moment.

“Almost the entire football team.” He realizes as he starts counting. Changbin’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. 

“How come nobody knows about this?” He asks. Jisung shrugs, sliding his food around his plate with a bored stare. 

“Most football players don’t want to admit they got beaten to a pulp. Anyways, like I said, Minho is… something else.” 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. At that moment, Minho walks into the cafeteria. Brown hair falling into his eyes, pulled back by a yellow headband. Changbin turns around, following Jisung’s gaze. A grumpy scowl settles on his face when he registers who it is.

Minho doesn’t even spare them a glance. He walks to the back of the lunchroom, throwing his bag on an empty table against the wall and takes his phone out. Jisung turns to Chan, who’s been watching their entire conversation with an amused smile. 

“Does Minho sit with anybody at lunch?” He finds himself wondering aloud. Chan shakes his head no. Jisung frowns.

“Why not? I mean, come on, he’s… attractive. And like, he’s all bad boy aesthetic. Girls love that.” He says kind of offhandedly, but he knows he’s right.

“Minho doesn’t like girls.” Chan reminds him, though he doesn’t need to. Jisung’s embarrassing display of his own sexuality is enough reminder. He swears the room temperature just went up six degrees. Why is everywhere he goes so hot all of a sudden?

“Yeah, I know. But still, it’s not… unappealing.” He tries to ignore his stuttering. 

“Why do you care?” Changbin leans back. Jisung shrugs and drops the subject for now, albeit reluctant. He doesn’t need to raise even more eyebrows, especially those attached to such a smug face.

Chan carries the conversation from that point on. He and Changbin rope themselves into a heated discussion about music and whatever is going on in his physics class. Jisung definitely isn’t looking across the cafeteria occasionally to sneak glances at Minho. Definitely not. Yellow is distracting, and he’s covered in it. That’s fair.

Lunch passes fairly quickly, the same uninteresting shit as always carrying on around them. Jisung can’t care less about the high school drama of it all, he just wishes he doesn’t have to hear it all. It’s the same as always, until the Vice Principal makes an appearance.

Every eye watches as he singles out a girl sitting in the middle of the cafeteria, surrounded by her friends. Their conversation is inaudible from where Jisung sits, but the girl looks terribly offended. Jisung knows that look. 

“It’s a skirt!” She shrieks and there is more inaudible conversation before she exclaims, “Mr. Kwon, are you implying that because my skin is showing, it makes me a slut?” 

Mr. Kwon’s attempt to shush her failed. The entire lunchroom is quiet now, and everybody can hear the next words he says.

“If that’s what you want to call yourself. Let’s go.” 

The cafeteria is dead quiet as the girl stands, humiliated and pulling consciously at her skirt. Jisung feels bad, so bad that he is suddenly filled with anger. How could a _staff member_ be making such comments to a student? How is her skirt length anybody’s business?

She walks with her head down, looking more embarrassed than sad. She flinches when a loud _bang_ echoes through the room and all eyes turn to the very back where Lee Minho is on top of a table. 

“Hey Mr. Kwon!” The murmurs around him are all about how his voice sounds, how this is the first time he’s spoken. Oh no. What is he doing? Minho catches Jisung’s eye and he winks, before reaching down and pulling his shirt completely off. The entire room collectively gasps.

“How slutty would you say this is?” He throws the shirt to the floor.

There is a silence in the room, it’s heavy and loud. A satisfied smile is on Minho’s face. He’s way too cocky. Jisung’s gaze meets his again, and he is positive his jaw is on the floor by now, it has to be with the dull ache he feels in it. Minho glances down at the tabletop and raises an eyebrow. 

_Do it, if you dare._ The look speaks volumes for him. Jisung is many things. Many, many things. But he is not a coward.

He gets to his feet rather quickly, not allowing a single thought of doubt to cross his mind. This is a direct challenge and even if only he and Minho would know it, he can’t turn it away. He is too competitive, this much they all know. Chan grabs his sleeve as he places his foot on his chair..

“Han Jisung,” He hissea in his ear, like a command instead of a name, “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it is _not_ a good idea.” 

Jisung ignores him. He tugs his arm free, climbing the rest of the way up to the table top. Changbin stares at him, unimpressed. He’s gained the attention of multiple people in the cafeteria by now. There’s a small seed of doubt that flashes through his mind. _Are you really about to do this?_ He decides that yes, he is.

He holds Minho’s expectant and almost daring gaze as he pulls his own shirt over his head, trying very hard to make sure he does _not_ blush in this moment. The cloth is dangling in his hand and he holds it out dramatically to his side before dropping it. Chan keeps it on the table. 

Minho has the audacity to wolf whistle at him.

“Yeah, Mr. Kwon!” He finds himself playing off Minho’s words, the entire cafeteria blocked out, “Say, looks like we’re all sluts.” 

He hears Minho’s laugh, and he only knows it’s Minho’s because of how high-pitched it is. Not that he’s replayed the one time he heard Minho laugh in his head or anything. Minho’s eyes are shining when he looks over, his mouth forming the word “ _copycat_.”

Jisung smiles back and shrugs. 

“Boys. Get down right now.” Mr. Kwon yells. Before Jisung can think to do or say anything, Minho is already on it. 

“What, you got a problem with the slut community?” Minho tsks, “Or maybe, it’s your own pathetic, weak mind that’s the problem.” 

“Lee Minho—“ Mr. Kwon is fuming.

The boy in question just shoots him two middle fingers and steps down. He picks his shirt up off the floor, slinging it over his bare shoulder and waltzing over to where the Vice Principal stood. His torso is left naked. 

“My office or yours?” He asks cheekily. Jisung catches the glance thrown back at him as he leaves and he’s quick to scramble off the table, grabbing his shirt from a disappointed Chan and chasing after the older. They were sure to be in huge trouble, but he doesn’t really mind with the way Minho is grinning and the thankful expression the girl wore.

+++

The principal's office is quiet, eerily quiet. 

Mr. Kwon storms in, instructing the girl to take a seat next to Minho and Jisung, who are already waiting patiently with innocent smiles. He disappears inside his office, slamming the door shut. As soon as he is gone, there is silence. 

Then, Minho snorts.

Jisung snaps his head over, seeing a shirtless Minho stifling his laughter with his hand. He meets Jisung’s eye and begins to laugh louder. It makes Jisung laugh too, and soon, all three of them are giggling like school children. Two of them are shirtless.

“Wow,” The girl on Jisung’s left says, “never did I ever even imagine that I would see something like that. I thought that only ever happened in films.” 

Minho smirks, letting a few more giggles escape him.

“Life is a movie, doll. I don’t think, I just act.” He leans backwards in his chair, that shit-eating grin painting his face. 

“You could’ve ended that with “I don’t think” and it still would’ve made sense.” Jisung quips, earning him a sharp smack on his bare shoulder. The girl giggles into her palm.

“Thank you both. You didn’t have to do that.” She seems shyer now, fiddling with her fingers. Minho places his hands behind his head, pretending he doesn’t notice how he is absolutely flexing his toned stomach. 

“He’s a dickhead. Your skirt is cute.” 

The girl smiles in appreciation.

“Thank you. I’m Sana, by the way.” She extends a hand. They both shake it, mirroring her by adding their names. Mr. Kwon sticks his head in the door, looking much less red than before. He signals Sana inside. She waves bye to the boys before going in.

Another silence envelopes them. It isn’t awkward nor comfortable, it’s just quiet. Jisung is now very aware that there are seats open around them. He could move over, probably _should_ move over. He doesn’t. Instead, he remains sitting in the seat next to Minho, his heart beating out of his bare chest while Minho stretches and very obviously tries to coerce Jisung into looking at his muscles. 

Jisung thinks he can _feel_ the veins bulging out of his neck from how hard he is focusing on the empty wall opposite of them to avoid playing into Minho’s hand. His chaotic little hand. He hears the other laugh from his right.

“Nice abs.” Minho pokes him in the side and makes him squirm. The younger takes a deep breath, risking a look at Minho’s face and praying that his gay thoughts do not betray him. 

“Nice baby tummy.” He is looking at Minho so intensely as he says it and he knows Minho is aware of what he is doing. Minho gives him a cocky smirk that could turn the devil’s cheeks pink and Jisung belatedly realizes this is a bad idea. He’s too flustered to look at Minho’s face, but looking away is definitely _not_ an option. Fuck.

“Hey, don’t knock my tummy. I’m muscular.” Minho teases, but he doesn’t seem offended in the slightest. Jisung rolls his eyes, seeing Minho’s smirk grow.

“Suuure. The muscles are in your arms and thighs.” He teases back, secretly in awe of the amount of muscle he has in those areas, and the look Minho gets on his face kind of scares Jisung. Like he just accidentally played into Minho’s hand. 

“Is that why you’re pointedly avoiding looking anywhere except my face?” 

Oh, fuck this guy. Jisung scoffs, but it is very weak and kind of catches in his throat and makes him cough. Minho smiles in victory.

“Here, if it’ll make you more comfortable.” He slides his shirt back on. Jisung _is_ more comfortable but also his right brain, his gay brain, is a little disappointed. _Not now, gay thoughts!_

He mutters a thanks and looks at the floor, slightly embarrassed that Minho has the audacity to do such a thing. 

“Your turn,” Minho says slyly and Jisung gives him a weird look. 

“What do you mean?”

Once again, Minho looks like Jisung has played right into his chaotic little hand. He has _got_ to get better at whatever little game they are playing. He knows he’s shirtless, but it is so hot in this room.

“If I don’t get to be distracting, neither do you.” Minho says and Jisung chokes.

“Distracting?” The word comes out strained, stuck in his throat and barely escaping his mouth. It is also several octaves higher than usual. Minho just chuckles and Jisung is getting used to being the butt of the joke.

“Yeah. Distracting.” Unlike Jisung, Minho shamelessly lets his eyes drift over his torso, and Jisung is positive he just set a new world record for putting on a shirt in less than a half second. He hears Minho giggling _again_. A finger pokes his cheek.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” The boy says with a smile much too sweet, “you’re just fun to tease.”

Jisung glares, but he knows there is no heat behind it. Minho knows it too. 

The door to the office opens, Sana walking out with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She sends a small smile to both of the boys, closing the door softly behind her as she exits. Jisung can’t help but feel that it is a smile of good luck. Mr. Kwon turns to them and from the corner of his eye, Jisung can see Minho struggling to hold in his laughter. 

“You two,” Mr. Kwon says, “I won’t do you the satisfaction of pulling you into my office. Detention for a month for both of you, you’re lucky I don’t call in your parents over this.” 

He slaps identical pink slips into their hands and slams his office door shut. They both stare at the slips in their hands, reading through all the charges listed. Jisung loses count at five.

“So, let me guess.” Minho says suddenly.

“We aren’t going.” They speak at the same time and immediately begin laughing. Minho cocks his head toward the door and Jisung, for some odd reason, follows him out. 

Jisung doesn’t usually skip this much. He doesn’t want to have to hear Chan’s inevitable lectures and Changbin’s complaining, but he is prepared for all of that, more than prepared, as he follows Minho out of the side door. He can’t find it in himself to care. 

They don't go far. Minho drags him up the hill and past the gate to the football stadium, sitting on the bleachers and digging in his bag. He pulls out peppermints, silently offering one to Jisung. The younger accepts, falling down next to him. Minho sighs, deep and heavy.

“This town is boring as hell.” He says. Jisung is a little taken aback, but manages to snort a laugh. 

“Jeez, thanks.” Minho cracks his eyes open at his response, watching as Jisung popped the peppermint into his mouth.

“You’re not boring. Everything else is though.” 

Jisung laughs, “How do you have the audacity to sit here and call this town boring when you’ve beat up a third of the school?” 

There is that laugh again. The one that doesn’t sound fake or forced or small, the one Jisung really likes to hear because it went high and then low and then back up. 

“ _We_ beat up. And yeah, that is true. I just feel like there’s nothing to do.” 

A minute or so passes in silence, and then Jisung gets an idea. Minho is basking in the sun when he hears Jisung move, probably just laying down too. And then suddenly, he is soaked from head to toe and very, _very_ cold.

He shakes his head, wet hair flying out of his eyes as he flies up. Jisung meets his gaze, holding a blue water bucket. 

“Still bored?” He says, cocky. Minho pounces immediately and Jisung drops the bucket. 

He climbs over the fence of the football field, a soaking wet Minho following. He is fast, but Minho is faster and he tackles the other to the ground, laughing the entire way down. They both land on their backs, Minho’s shirt completely transparent now.

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Minho breathes. Jisung just laughs again.

“It’s deserved.” 

The football field has fresh paint still coating the grass, beads of red staining the back of Jisung’s shirt. He could feel the paint soaking through, not that he cared enough to get up and move. Minho is staring off into space next to him.

They can hear the bell all the way from the field. 

“I’m going to take my leave early,” Minho announces, brushing off the grass from the back of his pants and climbing to his feet, “I’ll see you in detention tomorrow.”

“I thought we just agreed we wouldn’t go.” Jisung rests his weight on his elbows, eyes squinting against the sun to see Minho. The boy in front of him isn’t concerned with him at the moment.

“Might as well keep them on their toes, yeah?” 

Minho doesn’t give him the option to respond. He jumps the fence with practiced ease, sending a single sarcastic salute to Jisung as he disappears through the gates once more. Jisung shakes his head in disbelief.

He keeps people on their toes, alright.

+++

In all honesty, it probably doesn’t make much sense to anyone what Jisung is doing. 

Not to himself, Chan and Changbin, or his own teachers. He skips the entire day save for his two earliest morning classes, only to return late in the afternoon for his detention. All because of a single person. The strange look he gets from the teacher upon entering the designated classroom is all he needs to know he has probably lost his mind. However, the face in the back corner of the room makes him shake off the weird glances and stride to the seat in the opposite corner. Minho looks up at his entry, eyebrows quirking.

They wait in complete silence until the teacher gets bored and instructs them to clean her room while she steps out. She directs them to the brooms and dustpans in the back before taking her leave.

The silence stretches between them, confirming that she is, in fact, gone before they say a word. Minho is the first to stand, hitting play on his phone and letting the indie rock music fill the room. He grabs a broom, singing directly into the handle along with the lead singer of whatever band is playing.

Jisung watches him in silent amusement through his performance. Knocking into desks and uncapping markers is all part of Minho’s fun, but he eventually opts to sit back in his original seat. He throws the broom back to the front, watching with an uninterested scoff as it clattered against the ground.

“Do you think if I set off the sprinklers, they’d know it is me?” Jisung prompts, playing with the lighter he kept in his pocket. He isn’t a smoker, he doesn’t even use it for anything, but he liked the weight in his pocket.

“Or me.” Minho flicks an eraser across the room, “But, yeah. We’d both take the blame for it, anyway.”

“You don’t sound like you’d be all that mad about it.” He watches the eraser bounce twice before stopping in front of the whiteboard. Minho huma.

“I wouldn’t.”

“Pretty sure that classifies as a felony of some sort.” Jisung smirks as Minho’s head swung towards him. He looks slightly irritated, which is exactly what Jisung is going for.

“Ooh, preach to me, Mr. Lawyer. What’s my bail, Elle Woods?”

“Sixty eight million.”

“Do you think you could raise that by a million?”

“Perv.”

Minho laughs, yet again letting his voice run from one octave to the next. His laugh is so pretty, captivating, like a siren singing a song directly in your ear, luring you away from safety and into their hands. Jisung doesn’t think he minds being lured away.

“You’re just mad you aren’t as funny as me.” His eyes twinkle brightly under fluorescents, impossibly so. He is ethereal in ways almost inhuman. Not. Now. Gay. Thoughts.

“You have the humor of a fourth grader.” Jisung manages to squeak out despite himself. Minho doesn’t seem to notice his very gay lapse in between responses, luckily enough. 

“A fourth grader who is definitely getting that class clown superlative.” 

It is fun to laugh with Minho. People tend to avoid Jisung, not that he cares too much about it, but it does mean he has limited options for friends. Outside of kicking their asses, he finds that he rarely interacts with the majority of the student population. 

“You’re lame.” Jisung answers belatedly, drumming the tips of his fingers along the wooden desktop. As fun as Minho is, he would prefer to be having fun with him somewhere other than a deserted classroom.

“You’re the one in detention with me.”

“You make it sound voluntary.”

“Isn’t it?” 

There’s a lift in his voice, a question buried beneath the one he voices. His eyebrow is lifted on the left side of his face, mouth quirked at edges like a villain succeeding with their master plan. If his wicked ways were to align with leaving detention, Jisung would consider himself a villain as well.

“Okay then. You want to ditch?” He prompts him in the way Minho knew he would, the way he is expecting.

“Finally!” His glee is evident in his cheer, “Sweep me off my feet, Romeo.”

He saunters over to where Jisung is planted, lays across the desk in the most dramatic fashion, almost as if he actually expects Jisung to pick him up. Despite his expectations, Jisung will not.

“Almost positive that isn’t a line in that play.” He retorts instead and busies himself with the bag he brought. Why he even brought one is beyond him, but he is thankful for it now. 

“You think I read that heterosexual nonsense?” Minho is looking at him like he is growing a second head. 

“It is required reading freshman year.” Even as the sentence leaves his mouth, Jisung can predict Minho’s rebuttal. He isn’t surprised in the slightest when the boy in question leans across their desks, his face too close for comfort.

“Look me in my eyes and tell me, do you think I did anything I is told is required of me?” He cocks his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing as he is awaiting Jisung’s genuine answer. The younger of the two knows better.

“Guess not.” He settles on and escapes the burning gaze of the older boy. It leaves a tingle under his skin, electricity in his veins much like getting struck by lightning must feel. He walks to the door in hopes of shaking such a strange encounter from his memory.

“Guess?” Minho sounds nearly offended as his footsteps match Jisung’s, just a few paces behind, “Oh, we’ll fix that.”

+++

Ditching detention and school for the following days made things quite easy on Jisung’s business. All that time typically wasted on sitting in a classroom bored out of his mind and waiting to take a jock down by their ears is directed toward the mountain of homework Felix has managed to acquire. It is quite ridiculous, the workload far too much for someone who attended school as regularly as Felix did.

Perhaps that is the entire motivation behind paying Jisung under the table for completed assignments. Somehow or another, Lee Felix has found out his intellect and has never let the discovery die. Then again, Jisung isn’t exactly complaining with the well-paying job he got out of it.

He finishes the coursework two days before their due times and drops them in Felix’s locker during lunch period. He doesn’t stick around for whatever else is happening that day, doesn’t want to risk being seen on his skipping day. 

His mother is out of town again, though she had given Jisung quite the strong side-eye before she departed. He has to promise to do better in his own classes before she would leave with an easy mind. Digging himself into a deeper hole proved to be easier said than done.

He skips out on Friday night’s game, for obvious reasons. Football was never really intriguing to him and the only thing he ever got out of it is the occasional parking lot fight. He doesn’t exactly feel up for such a thing at the moment. 

So, he waits around until the early hours of the morning are upon him and most everyone who isn’t insomnious or dead is immersed in their peaceful slumber. Then, he climbs out of his bedroom window with his backpack high on his shoulders and a mission set clear in his mind.

He knows where he is headed before he even thinks about going, his feet find the route on their own, carrying him down the vacant streets on autopilot. The house he comes up on looks nothing like his own.

It is larger than his own, made of red brick and surrounded by a dark brown porch that wrapped itself around the exterior. From the front of the house, the green front door sticks out above all else. Perhaps the second thing is the open window on the second floor, heavy dark curtains flowing with the force of the wind blowing through them. 

He isn’t particularly skilled with climbing, a clumsy foot here and there causes brutal damage to his reputation, but he is as skilled as he’ll ever get. His ankles shake when he rests his weight on them, leaning forward to knock against the window sill. He takes the brief second to look at the room. 

Walls painted a pretty mint, a wooden desk painted a brilliant white pushed against the wall to his left, a TV hanging above it. A collection of plants just below his feet, all green and keening toward the window. A vanity by the door, skincare products covering the surface in organized fashion. And finally, a bed pushed to the wall on his right, white bed sheets hugging the boy laid between them.

He wakes as Jisung’s excessive tapping travels to his ears, bolting up so quickly in his bed in a fashion most annoying to the orange cat at his foot. The cat makes a noise of disapproval, leaping off the bed and stretching as it paws the bedroom door open and exits. It disregards Jisung entirely as it leaves.

Minho rubs his eyes, hands balled into cute little fists. He sends Jisung a glare, the white bed sheets swallowing him whole and making him look small.

“You pissed off Soonie.” His voice is groggy, but his words are every bit as witty as always. He could probably carry on banter with Jisung in his sleep.

“Come on, wake your lazy ass up. We have a town to destroy in this glorious hour.” Jisung pulls the straps of his bag closer to his body, hoping his point will reach Minho. Either sleep or vagueness gets to him, and he looks at Jisung confused.

“How the fuck did you find my house?” He doesn’t look near as angry as his words led on. Instead, he looks amused if nothing else. His legs swing over the side of the bed and Jisung has to trap his laugh in his throat.

“How the fuck do you expect anyone to take you seriously?” He gestures to Minho’s legs, “I mean, cat pajama pants? Come on.” 

“Are you stalking me, Han?” Minho does not let his attempt of skirting the question pass. His cat pajamas hang around his ankles, looking a size too big for his body.

“You call it stalking, I call it observing.” It is true that Jisung has not stalked Minho. At least, not in the way Minho is assuming. It is simple really, a comment on Felix’s part about his new neighbor being a vicious fighter at school. It doesn’t take a genius to piece it together.

“Uh huh.” Minho doesn’t look convinced, but Jisung doesn’t assume he’s given enough explanation for him to be, “Can’t believe I have a stalker and I haven’t even been here more than three months.”

“I can’t believe it took this long.” He retorts as Minho crosses the room to a closet. He throws a glance over his shoulder at the boy sitting in his window, eyebrow raised in silent questioning.

“Get out.” 

Jisung pulls his backpack tighter to his body, slipping from the window to the roof of the house. He mocks a military salute as he leaves Minho to change, the ache in his ankles flaring as he moves. 

“Meet you on the other side.”

A few minutes pass with Jisung sitting on the bottom porch step, twirling a can of paint in his hand before the green door behind him opens. Out steps Minho, white t-shirt, army green jacket and black ripping jeans hugging his figure. Jisung stands and immediately begins their walk to the place he is to bring them tonight.

“So, care to enlighten me on why I was pulled from the comfort of my bed and my cats to walk empty streets of a ghost town?” Minho gestures around them as they step into the middle of the main part. He isn’t wrong, the town is pretty ghostly at this hour.

“First of all, you sleep with your cats?” 

“Soonie is very cuddly, you ogre.” 

“Quick, tell me how ogre is spelled.”

Minho has the audacity to laugh at him, pulling his jacket closer when a gust of wind blows through the abandoned village. His hair blows up off his forehead, a pretty sea of brown that looked too soft for human fingers to dare to imagine touching. 

“Here comes the fucking Harvard graduates.” Minho remarks, his tongue clicking in feigned irritation. Jisung rolls his eyes, a light shove to Minho’s shoulder showcasing his feelings accurately.

“Harvard runs in fear of my massive brain.” 

“Maybe in fear of your massive ego, but your brain? Not so much.” 

“You wound me.” Jisung places a hand over his heart. 

“Uh huh.” Minho waves him off, smirk growing on his face with every second that passes, every moment that drags this night along, “So, why did you come knocking on my window at two in the morning?”

“I was trying to commit to my role as Romeo.” Jisung seizes the opportunity to yet again avoid the question. He knows where they are headed, though it isn’t something he cares to share with his companion. No matter how endearing he may be.

“And that makes me Juliet?” 

“Well, if not, then I must have seriously misread the play.”

Despite the non-verbal start they have gotten off to, talking with Minho comes naturally to him. Minho is witty and sarcastic in all the right ways and he plays off Jisung’s jokes as well as Jisung can play off his. He keeps Jisung on his toes, and fits in with him very well after nearly crushing his nose.

“You didn’t even read the play.” He points out like the expert he is. He doesn’t need to phrase it like a question, for he knows Jisung did not, in fact, even look twice at such a piece of literature.

“No, I didn’t.” He doesn’t bother trying to deny something so obvious, “But I’m pretty sure having two characters' names in the title means something.” 

“Sure.” Minho chuckles, his voice light and flowing in time with the wind that brushes past their wandering figures, like a delicate wave encasing their bodies, “Regardless, I won’t be dying for you.”

“You really wouldn't drink poison if you found me dead?” Jisung once again pretends to be offended by the statement, “Geez, so much for this relationship.”

“I’d throw you a smashing funeral.”

“Like it’s a sweet sixteen?”

“Absolutely like it’s a sweet sixteen.” 

Jisung takes in their surroundings, makes a sharp left turn into an alleyway he has memorized by now. He knows there will be a blue dumpster on the left side, next to the back entrance to a deli. He knows there is a locked gate at the end of the stretch, the key belonging to the old hag who lives two floors above the shop and yells at kids like him to “get lost” and calls them “hoodlums.” He knows this alley isn’t really an alley at all and is actually the entrance to an abandoned community pool, now skatepark.

“Ah, so this is it.” Minho breathes as they tread down the alley, his footsteps light and bouncy as he steps, “Is this the part where you kill me brutally and throw my body in the dumpster?” 

He taps the side of the massive blue waste bin, an easy smile on his face. He seems far too chipper for a man ripped from his bed and brought downtown to an empty alley. 

“You’re thinking of a different movie we star in,” Jisung removes the several neon paint cans stored in his bag, “this is the part where indie music plays in the background while we vandalize the city and have a moment.”

“Your self-awareness is admirable.” Minho takes a can of green paint into his hands. He shakes it twice and finds an empty place to paint a cat face. Jisung shakes his head as he watches, bemused.

“Don’t tell me your idea of vandalizing is drawing cat faces on every available surface.”

“I don’t see what else vandalizing could be.” 

The night fades into the background, as does the rising sun as they bicker for the next several hours. The deli owners don’t mind their new art, but the old hag two floors above is not exactly excited about the two hoodlums she chased away at the crack of dawn. They were smiling, laughing even, as they bagged up their paints and ran out of the alley into the empty streets, hands clasped.

+++

School started bright and early on Monday morning. Well, bright and early for those who show up on time. 

Jisung already has several accounts of skipping and absences to his name and the year has barely begun. His track record only seems to grow as the years pass, and he doesn’t seem to have any intention of stubbing that growth. Only now, he is spending his free time stolen back from school for other reasons.

Minho suggests they ditch around sixth period, when a bloodied and beaten Chinhae of the basketball team lays defeated at their feet. Needless to say, it is the last time another slur would leave his mouth. 

Jisung agrees, though he is quite aware that he is only subjecting himself to an extra long lecture from Chan, perhaps longer than the one he received today. But Minho does not seem to be phrasing the offer as a question and who is Jisung to refuse such a tempting proposal. 

“Where are we going to go?” He asks as they continue down the same streets they walked two nights ago. They are a lot more lively now, showing little resemblance to the ghost town they encountered. There’s people walking in and out of the small shops, people driving down the street caged in between the businesses, people inside the establishments. 

“I honestly doesn’t think that far ahead.” Minho replies and it brings an easy smile to Jisung’s lips. Humor with the older boy is effortless, like it is only natural for him to be so amused. 

“I happen to know a place.” 

Jisung does, in fact, know a place. The place in question is a seemingly abandoned junkyard, just behind the railroad tracks. The city dumped a ton of old vehicles and useless junk people turned in before leaving it to its own accord. The tracks are shut down, a train hasn’t passed over them in years, and the conductor’s booth makes for a good hideout.

Jisung is the only person who knows about it. Chan and Changbin are wonderful, but as much as he likes them, he wants a place where nobody can find him. The junkyard is a place of comfort and after some minor interior adjustments, vandalism as the city would call it, the conductor's booth looks more like home than his own bedroom walls. 

The decorations he pours so much of his precious time into have ensured his mark on the place will be left. There’s red paint over bare gray brick on the inside of the booth, a coffee table with one broken leg superglued together in the middle. Most of the decor is thrown in the junkyard for trashing, but Jisung likes to salvage what he can.

Minho marvels at the room from the doorway, lingering just barely inside the room. Jisung makes himself comfortable with all the confidence of a regular attendee. The sea green couch against the back wall is ripped and smells vaguely of cigarette smoke that is just strong enough to pull on his gag reflexes every once in a while, but it’s cushions are soft and albeit lumpy. 

A chess board is set up on the table in front of the couch, a stack of old grandma pillows that smell strongly of mothballs on the other side of the coffee table. The game is set up, but he doesn’t play it. He spends most of his time throwing darts at the board just above the control panel, which has become a resting place for his bag. The spaces of chipped paint on the wall has sharpie markers on them, little numbers and phrases he likes scribbled in them.

“Is this where you disappear to when you ditch?” Minho sets his bag down beside the controls, moving only a little further into the room. The mixture of smells is not one easy on unprepared senses, and the sting makes his eyes water. Jisung is used to it by now, finds comfort in it.

“First of all, I am a child of God and I have never ditched in my life.” Jisung points a finger at Minho, like a father scolding his child. Minho swats at it.

“You’re ditching right now.” He counters and settles down on the couch on Jisung’s right. The smell of smoke invades his nostrils at once and he fights to keep his choke in his throat. 

“This is not ditching, this is a mini-vacation.” 

Jisung reaches inside his bag and presents them both with a bottle of sparkling grape juice. It makes Minho laugh at the presentation of the bottle, built to resemble wine but failing with the gold wrap around the neck.

“And what is this?” Minho swallows dryly around the wretched smell, “Your fourth _mini-vacation_ in a week?”

“Mini-vacations are to be taken regularly to keep one's mental health afloat.” 

Jisung untwists the top of the bottle, gold wrapping cracking and crumbling in pieces around his fist. The light hits the bottle at the perfect angle and lights up the green-yellow glass beautifully as Jisung takes a drink.

“My mom used to call this stuff “special juice”.” Jisung holds the bottle out to inspect it, “We only ever drank it on special occasions, like holidays or birthdays or other important days.”

“Why makes this day so special then?” Minho reaches for the bottle, welcoming the sweetened taste of white grape that flows over his tongue. It’s bubbly and leaves an unfamiliar aftertaste.

“It’s not special _yet._ It’s our job to make it special, so that my mom’s juice tradition doesn’t go away.” 

He passes the bottle back to Jisung, who happily takes it with both hands and brings it to his mouth to take a large drink. Minho watches him in heightened amusement, but his request rings in his ears.

“Showing me your secret hideout isn’t special enough for you?”

“I feel like it has to be really special.” Jisung collects the scattered darts across the floor into a neat pile. The bottle remains open on the table as he stands, moving to the middle of the room to launch the darts at the board. He’s decent, but he isn't fantastic.

Minho watches him silently for a few moments, before his mind gets the better of him and he stands. He gets right behind Jisung, his hand grabbing Jisung’s bicep and positioning him more to the left. 

“Line up your arm, not your body. Have you ever aimed anything before in your life?” He is too close for the comfort of either of them, but Jisung does nothing to escape his grip. For once, he succeeds in keeping his gay thoughts wrapped up.

“I used to play horseshoes with my cousins.” Jisung retorts but he follows Minho’s advice nonetheless. A glance backward tells him Minho is skeptical of the truth in that statement.

“So, you were trash? At horseshoes?” The smile on Minho's face is too endearing to be annoyed with, though Jisung sure as hell tries his best. He can’t force himself to keep far with the gay thoughts banging on the walls of their cages.

“I is a champion.” He replies easily despite the mental war he is fighting. Minho doesn’t seem to notice the very slight strain in his voice or the way he is refusing to make direct eye-contact. Either he chooses to ignore it, or he’s less observant than he’s portrayed as. 

“Then your cousins were trash.” Minho says it so simply, like it is the only explanation that made any sense. In some ways, Jisung’s ego is a little wounded by the insistence, but a bigger part of him found an excuse for banter in it.

“No, no. My cousins are world class horseshoe throwers. Top ten in the nation and I kicked their asses.” He lets Minho adjust his arm to his liking, not bothering to try and fight it at all. Despite his words, he doesn’t really have good aim enough.

“Okay horseshoe king, you’re still ass at darts.” Minho pulls his wrist back, sliding the dart just beside his ear that strains his shoulder. He pulls back a little rougher, his hand wrapping around Jisung’s and his lips just beside the other ear.

“Now, release it.” 

Jisung does. It doesn’t hit bullseye exactly, given that the tactic itself is a bit shaky, but it gets closer than Jisung ever has on his own. How irritatingly impressive.

Darts fly for the next few minutes, each game ending with a near perfect bullseye on Minho's end. Jisung is lucky to make it to the third ring most times, but he keeps his complaining to a minimum. Playing darts with Minho in a conductor’s booth during school hours is not exactly where he figured he’d ever end up.

Jisung belatedly realizes he left a deck of cards here and he searches the place for them while Minho throws his last dart. He scoops them up and pockets them when he locates them, feeling the weight of the pack pulling just a bit at the jacket hanging from his shoulder. He motions for Minho to follow him out of the booth.

The junkyard is filled with cars, both crushed and in one piece. Some have plants growing in them, the backseats having been filled with dirt. Jisung is never really sure if that has anything to do with the group of hippies that used to hang around here.

Most of the cars are missing something. Some don’t have seats, some are missing a steering wheel or tires, some are lacking bumpers all together. The only vehicle left in relatively good condition is the giant yellow school bus in the middle of the yard.

Minho follows him as he crosses the scarce grass to the bus, directing him around remnants of a fire pit and the used syringes laying around. Minho makes a noise of disgust as his feet cautiously dance around these things and he propels himself into the bus just after Jisung.

The seats are vandalized and ripped, covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. There’s grass growing up through the cracks in the floor, the emergency exit busted open and serving as more of a sunroof. Minho goes straight to the back of the green-black seats and settles down in the two-seater next to the back exit. 

Across from him is a singular one-seater, the only space in the bus covered in frayed red leather as opposed to the green-black mixture the rest have. Jisung walks cautiously, his mind snapping back to the pile of cars this bus balances on. Any fast movements and they could be flipping down a hill faster than they could blink.

He gets to the seat quickly but carefully, dropping the deck of playing cards on the edge of Minho’s seat. The older takes an instant interest in them, examining the faded and worn box that holds the cards. His fingers lightly trace the H.J.S etched into the side of the box by a dark blue sharpie marker. 

“I only know how to play two games; blackjack and bullshit. Take your pick.” Jisung slides his jacket off, bunches it up behind him to create a pillow of sorts to keep his back from digging into the harsh window edge. He folds his feet under him like a small child, watching Minho shuffle the cards intently.

“I don’t think I’ve yet mastered your poker face,” Minho is grinning like the Cheshire Cat, laying across the two-seater on his stomach, the cards flowing prettily through his hands, “so, I’ll go with blackjack.” 

Jisung lets Minho sort the cards, choosing to watch his face scrunch you in concentration. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth subconsciously, the edge of the cards pressed against his palm as he sorts them. He doesn’t notice Jisung’s stare.

Blackjack becomes a long game. With nothing on the line other than some mints and empty bottles thrown around the bus, there isn’t much to play off of. However, the friendly competition between the two seems to keep the game going long after they’ve eaten the mints and discarded the bottles.

It comes as little surprise when they begin to get hungry and find that they’ve spent hours in the junkyard. Jisung leads them down the beaten trail back to town, where the dirt road concealed behind fallen tree limbs opens into a soccer field next to the highway. They cross at a red light, joining the crowd of fellow high school students freshly out of school. 

A burger joint in the middle of town is the hotspot of the afternoon, Minho dragging Jisung along despite the amount of familiar faces roaming within. The older boy pays no mind to the amount of shocked looks they walk into, two of the looks belonging to Jisung’s friends.

A booth near the back calls their names, and Minho is quick to claim it, a slightly embarrassed Jisung in tow. They scan the menu, Jisung practically having memorized it, but he enjoys the oohs and ahhs Minho lets out every time he finds something new. Jisung goes to wait in line at the counter and silently hopes he is intimidating enough to not

be approached.

Unfortunately for him, Chan is never intimidated by him.

“Care to explain?” His voice is right next to Jisung’s ear, it sends a shock through Jisung’s unprepared system. He contains it with a hum.

“What needs explaining?” He feigns ignorance, feigns casualty in hopes of convincing Chan. He fails.

“What’s this, uh, _thing_ with Lee Minho?” 

“It’s a partnership.”

Chan barks a laugh that draws too many eyes. “A partnership, my ass. _Partners_ don’t hold hands and go for burger dates after skipping school—presumably together—all day.” 

“It is not a date.” Jisung doesn’t mean to cherry-pick the words, but his brain-to-mouth connection is weakening with every passing second.

“I would never hold Changbin’s hand as we walk into a fast food shop for a meal _alone.”_ Chan raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe you should.” A weak attempt to defend himself makes Chan laugh harder.

“I think he’s got his eye on someone else, thanks though.” 

“What, like you don’t?” 

Chan turns the same color red as the paint in Jisung’s booth back at the junkyard. His hand reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, throat clearing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Enjoy your date.” 

He leaves without hearing Jisung’s protest. The younger can’t be bothered with his friend’s teasing, he has made it to the front of the line.

He orders two classic burgers and two milkshakes, one mint and one cheesecake, for himself and Minho. He can feel the older watching him closely and he lets their eyes meet briefly. 

_You okay?_ Minho mouths, his eyes flickering to where Chan is sitting opposite of Changbin and a kid Jisung doesn’t recognize at the other end of the shop. He looks concerned, likely having bared witness to their conversation. Jisung could only hope he doesn’t have good enough ears to hear any of it. 

He nods and sends him a reassuring smile. Minho doesn’t seem entirely convinced, his eyes floating back to Chan but he takes Jisung’s word for it. Their order is up soon enough and Jisung has never been so happy to escape the public eye. He feels the stares roll off his back the second he sits down across from Minho.

“Do I need to kill somebody?” Minho’s words are blunt and serious, only a small hint of humor somewhere between their lines. Jisung offers him a small grin, hoping to crush his distrust of Chan.

“Maybe, but not Chan. He’s a friend.” Jisung takes a bite of his burger, the greasy-soaked meat warm on his tongue. It would almost be nostalgic, has his mother not developed an aversion to fast food in his youth. Still, the general ambiance is one he would eventually miss.

“You’ll have to give me a list of names on the hit list.” Minho chuckles at his own lame joke and goes straight for his shake first, not even bothering to spare his burger a glance before he makes the choice. He sips at it ideally, little wiggles in his shoulders.

“You don’t have enough names to make your own?” 

“I figured as a long time resident, your list would be more accurate.” 

“I think you’re just lazy.” 

Minho doesn’t respond. 

Jisung doesn’t believe in an instant connection. He doesn’t believe in fairytales or “love” at first sight. That isn’t to say Jisung doesn’t believe in love or relationships, but he believes those things take time. Which is why he doesn’t call the ease he feels around Minho “connection,” “love,” “attraction,” or any of the other things previously used in storybooks. He doesn’t call it anything. 

It isn’t instant, it isn’t. Minho’s trust in him, well maybe that is instant, but everything that has followed hasn’t been. At least, not to Jisung. It feels like every moment he’s been with the older is something to be locked away and protected for its specialness.

To Jisung, “instant” takes away that special factor. It takes away development, growth, proper knowledge. To Jisung, “instant” isn’t real nor special.

But this, _this_ is certainly special.

+++

“Jisung!”

“I’ve got it.”

Steady hands caught the shoulders of Seo Dojin, the senior basketball all star with too big of a mouth and too weak of a punch. He is easily Jisung’s most worthy opponent through the years, though that isn’t saying very much when compared to his others. Dojin at least has the fight and the stamina to draw out a brawl.

Of course, neither of these measure up to the combined fighting styles of Jisung and Minho. Jisung catapults the body back to Minho, who goes in with a hard right hook to the jaw. Jisung is almost sure he saw blood trickling down Dojin’s chin.

A punch as powerful as that is usually enough to end the fight, it has at least an 89% knock-you-on-your-ass rate. It is no secret to anyone that Minho has impressive muscles in his thighs, but it comes as a shock to everyone when his punch packs the same power. Jisung isn’t sure where he’d come from, but the boy is almost superhuman. 

Things are different with Dojin. He’s tougher than the rest, a little stronger and more prepared, he’s quick and impossibly successful with counterattacks. Jisung’s distaste for Dojin has always been thinly veiled, if he succeeds at concealing it at all. Part of him is convinced he is terrible at it and that everyone, Dojin included, is aware of his scorn.

Perhaps his obvious aversion has something to do with the way Minho appears to hit a little harder, move a little faster, and hold his focus a little longer. He is a cat playing with a mouse, a puppet master to this doll he has on a string, but there is a force behind the way he fights, a strength he rarely exercises. Jisung hopes to never be on the receiving end of one of Minho’s punches, but watching him move now, he would rather blow his brains out than have to face him one-on-one.

He’s relentless, calculated. Every swing is followed by another, Dojin stumbling backwards from the amount of force colliding with his face. He stumbles right into Jisung’s chest, back slumping against his frame. Minho’s punches stop wailing when they’re so close to the other’s face.

“I think you did a good enough number on him.” Jisung comments, stepping back just enough to remove his body’s support. Dojin falls to the ground, a miserable ball of what could once be called a man. Minho disregards him.

“He’s still conscious.” 

“We should probably leave him that way.” Jisung sends a look of pity down at the bleeding limbs and tattered clothing, “It’s difficult to tell where the line is when they go unconscious. I hate homophobes, doesn’t mean I’ll kill them.”

“Nobody said anything about murder.” Minho brings a bruised hand up to his face, his thumb dragging across the faint traces of blood left on his bottom lip. He quirks an eyebrow at Dojin’s crumbled frame. 

“I’m unimpressed.” He comments, turning over his left shoulder and facing the agriculture building again, “Jisung said you were as worthy an opponent as we can find. And yet, it is still disappointing.”

Jisung steps over him, walking alongside Minho around the corner. He should attend agriculture class at least once this semester, it’d be a shame for his teacher to never see his face. Minho passes him a piece of mint gum and Jisung takes it automatically.

The junkyard has become a proper hangout for them on the days they can’t be bothered to return to their classes. Jisung is originally anxious as to whether Minho would want to go back, but at the older’s request, they argued over the rules of chess on the floor of the old booth. Since then, they both have fallen into routine, visiting almost every day before dusk.

He refuses to call it anything, even still, a part of him acknowledges that it is _something._ A part of him, the part he shushes and whacks to the back of his mind every time it makes itself known. He doesn’t have time for such dangerously gay thoughts. 

Minho is nothing like he is originally perceived. Cold, god-like features and a sharp tone give off an edge about him, evoke a fear in those who don’t dare approach. His first impression is false. Minho is giggly, would jump in front of a train for his cats, and smiles with all the joy of a small child. He trusts Jisung, though that may have more to do with his safety around him due to their shared sexuality. But a selfish part of him wants to believe Minho is growing to enjoy his company.

“You going to the game?”

“On Friday? Why would I?”

Minho slides a piece of gum into his mouth, taking a moment to chew. He pockets the silver wrapper instead of throwing it away. 

“Who knows, maybe you’ll find a homophobe who wants to try it.” He smiles, as he steps onto the sidewalk in front of the school, beginning the route to the junkyard almost automatically.

“In this town, there’s hardly anyone that _isn’t_ homophobic and wants to try it. Still, I don’t usually go to games other than the first one. Is it home?” 

“Yeah. Plus, even if we don’t get to fight, I want to stand up by the fence and throw popcorn at Jaejoong and boo at him.” 

Jisung laughs at the ridiculous plan. Normally, he has better ways to spend his Friday nights, a football game is not exactly an ideal environment for him unless he is making a trade with Felix. But throwing popcorn and psyching out a homophobe sounded fun and Minho seemed pretty content with it.

“Yeah, sure. Should I meet you at your house or the junkyard?” He teases and Minho catches it immediately and laughs. 

“Junkyard is good. I don’t want you poking around my house too much.” He jabs a playful finger in Jisung’s shoulder, “You might find out what windows don’t work.” 

“Oh, so there are windows that don’t work? Thanks for the extra information, saves me lots of snooping time.”

+++

The distinct smell of smoke and fire drifts from the open door of the conductor’s booth. Jisung isn’t immediately concerned, he’s far too used to the occasional visits from hippies or the group of homeless kids who sleep on the buses during rainy or cold nights. Sometimes, they will borrow the booth when they know Jisung won’t be there, usually to nap or smoke or fill the time playing chess. Jisung always knows when they’ve been there, because they never reset the board pieces or put the pillows back on the couch.

He doesn’t mind and will leave a few bills held together by a paper-clip on the console when he can afford it. He hardly comes face-to-face with the kids, but he knows who they are and the names of the older ones. He has spoken to Keonhee a few times, though he hardly comes around. Usually it’s a boy with dark hair, brushed over his forehead and sporting darker clothes, that comes around the yard.

It isn’t immediately alarming when he sees a thick cloud of smoke emerging from the conductor’s booth. It’s immediately alarming when he hears a loud “fuck!” coming from the conductor’s booth, sounding oddly similar to Minho’s voice.

Jisung pokes his head inside, careful not to draw any attention in case it somehow isn't Minho. Once the smokey fog lifts a bit and he can process the scene in front of him, it takes everything in him not to burst out in laughter.

Minho is holding a lit match, a single scented candle on the coffee table next to the chess board. He’s blowing at the match, shaking it, trying to get it to go out. Jisung can’t fight the little giggle that fights its way out.

Minho looks up, his pointer finger and thumb still shaking the match to put out the fire. A few steps into the booth and Jisung brings the match to his face, blows a steady and fast streak of air and puts out the flame. Minho waits for it to stop smoking before he throws it onto the wet grass outside.

“Why does it look like you hotboxed in here?” Jisung cannot fight the amusement in his tone. Minho scowls, though he doesn’t look as irritated as he appears.

“This place smells bad, I just wanted to bring a nice vanilla candle in to make it smell better, but the first match wouldn’t light so I tried to throw it out the window.” 

“There aren’t any windows in here.”

“I know that! _Now_ ! A stack of newspapers caught on fire and I have to stomp them out with my foot! _My foot!”_ Minho gestured down at a pile of crumpled newspaper in the corner, the middle missing and surrounded with traces of burns. There is ash on the floor leading from Minho’s sole to the pile, along with smeared ash on the floor.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be the one to light the candle.” Jisung remarks, listening for the huff that leaves Minho’s mouth a second later, “Besides, we have a game to catch and I would prefer this place is still standing when we return.”

Minho rolls his eyes, failing to fight the pout that tries to make its way onto his face. He kicks his foot in the same manner as a small child would, arms swinging by his sides. It is utterly unbelievable to Jisung at this moment that this is the boy feared by so many of their peers.

“Come on, you big baby,” Jisung removes the matches from Minho’s hand, sets them down beside his candle on the coffee table, “you want to go throw popcorn at Jaejoong?”

Minho perks up. Jisung chokes on the laugh in his throat, pressing his tongue to the inside of his cheek to stifle it. Minho skips out of the booth with newfound glee, the incident of the newspaper and his dirty shoe forgotten. 

The walk back to school is entertaining. Minho shows off all the places within his jacket he has hidden snacks. Jisung belatedly mentions his bag under the stairs, stacked high with his payments from Felix. The reveal puts an extra bounce in Minho's step. 

They don’t pay at the gate, not that they usually do. Jisung has the money on him, only about seven dollars a person, but it isn’t about the money, it’s about the statement. That's what Minho says as he hops the back fence, Jisung right behind him.

The game has already kicked off by the time they arrive, making a quick stop to retrieve Jisung’s so carefully stashed goods. He makes eye-contact with Felix as he passes the stand and knows there will be a box of chocolate in his spot when he returns. Minho shoots him a curious look when he catches their interaction, though he doesn’t pry.

Jisung surveys the bleachers, narrowly avoiding making direct eye-contact with Chan. His friends are aware he doesn’t frequent events as such, to see him here with the very boy they have teased him about would only raise questions. Such questions don’t seem to bother Minho, their existence or lack thereof does not plague him the same way it does Jisung. There’s speculation about his sexuality, most of it among the few girls he’s interacted with over the course of his years, but there is no solid confirmation. Nobody is owed it either.

Minho is a lot more forward than he is. He came to a new school alone and without intentions of keeping a low profile, his sexuality being broadcasted to everyone and their mother doesn’t phase him in the slightest, and he is quite the flirty little shit. Minho definitely has a one-up on him.

Jisung isn’t messed with about such trivial things, and isn't bothered for answers. Most suspect a royal ass-kicking is in store should they pry, and their fear keeps him off the radar. Of course, the jocks and the homophobes already assumed he is gay by his obvious offense to their comments, but they also won’t dare try to anger him further. 

Minho doesn't care. Questions are raised in voices above whispers, but he brushes them off like specs of dust on his shoulder. Looks are thrown his way, both in curiosity and disgust, but he never looks back.

Minho is unapologetically himself and nothing anybody has to say about it will change that about him. His level of confidence would get stuck in Jisung’s lungs before they made way into his words and actions. 

The fence in front of where the football game stands is about chest-high and made of cheap wire. Cheerleaders usually stand directly in front of it, but they show no resistance to being forced down a few steps at the two boys’ approach. Minho leans on the edge of the fence, smirk adorning his catlike features.

“I’ll get the popcorn, you watch for Jaejoong?” Jisung suggests and Minho turns to him with a wicked grin. He takes that as a solid affirmative and climbs the bleachers to the concession stand. He doesn’t bother to wait in line and immediately loops around to the side entrance.

Felix catches his movements and meets him there, leaving Hyunjin and Bambam to work the front. Felix eyes the bills in his hand and raises an eyebrow.

“You don’t pay for stuff.” He says, settling on the wall beside Jisung. With a roll of his eyes, he thrusts the bills forward.

“Only because of our deal.” He replies when it becomes apparent that Felix wants a response. Felix snorts, unconvinced.

“You’d just steal it otherwise.” He finally accepts the bills in Jisung’s palm, his fingers flicking over the bills to count them. They’re a five and two ones, but he still holds them up to the light to check for counterfeit.

“What a true yet wildly offensive accusation.” 

“What do you want?” 

Jisung pretends to mull it over for the sake of isting Felix’s time. The blond catches this and gives him an irritated look that falls flat. This isn’t a friendship by any means, but Jisung always catches himself relaxing around him.

“Popcorn. You don’t have to add all the fancy shit, we're going to throw it at football players.” 

Felix disappears inside the stand, tossing the money at Bambam as he passes. He grabs a bag of popcorn, whispers something to Hyunjin that makes him laugh and returns. He pushes the bag against Jisung’s chest, lightly. 

“We?” He questions his earlier statement. 

“Yeah. You’ve heard I’ve got a partner in crime now, haven’t you?” As much as the situation makes him anxious, he is well-aware of the rumors circulating after he and Minho were seen hanging out. For most, it’s terrifying, a match made in hell. For those who know them, or rather those who know Jisung, better, it’s a recipe for dumbass mischief. 

“Oh, I’ve heard, I think everyone has.” Felix drums his fingers against the concrete framing the doorway, “What's the deal anyway? I thought you were a lone wolf.” 

“I’m friends with Chan and Changbin. What about that makes me a lone wolf?” 

“Because they’re lone wolves too. You all travel in a pack of sorts but you get up to your own shit and hardly ever involve yourselves in each other’s antics.” Felix stares at him, turning over a question in his mind, “From what I hear, this Minho kid fights with you, Chan and Changbin have never done that despite your reputation.” 

“Minho likes to throw fists.” Jisung shrugs, trying his best to make it look casual, “Chan and Bin aren’t too crazy about it.”

“Doesn’t make sense why he’d team up with you, though.” Felix points out, “Why doesn’t he just kick your ass too?”

“He tried, it didn't work. Now, we’re besties and paint each other’s nails at our weekly sleepovers. We done here?” 

Before Felix can open his mouth to fire off some undoubtedly witty retort, another figure joins them in the opening. Hyunjin doesn’t see him at first, sliding up next to Felix with pinched eyebrows.

“We really need you at the front again, the rush hour is hitting and it’s—“ He cuts himself off just as his eyes slide past Felix to Jisung and his mouth pulls into a frown. Protectively, his arm wraps around Felix’s shoulders.

“We don’t want any trouble, Han.” He says, much colder and snappier than the tone he used with Felix just a second earlier. Jisung is amused for a second, but the amusement fades into annoyance.

“And I’m not looking for it, _Hwang._ ”

“Well, one way or another, it always seems to find you, doesn’t it?” 

Jisung is prepared to make Hyunjin regret coming over here, but Felix interrupts before his fist goes through Hyunjin’s pretty teeth. He presses a hand flag against Hyunjin’s chest, nudging him backwards and further into the stand.

“Hey, none of that.” He says, surprisingly calm and soft, “Jisung came here to buy snacks, that’s all.” 

Hyunjin looks down at the hand still pressed to his chest. He makes a noise that sounds similar to a scoff and his eyes roll. 

“He could’ve waited in line like everybody else.” Hyunjin mumbles, refusing to look in Jisung’s direction. It’s honestly very entertaining to watch, but Jisung’s growing bored and Minho is waiting to throw popcorn at civilians. 

“He’s done me a few favors, so I think letting him skip the line is a good thank you.” He turns to Jisung, his hand never leaving Hyunjin’s chest. The implications of that are lost on Jisung. “I’ll see you around.”

Jisung mockingly salutes the both of them and takes the bleacher steps two at a time to reach Minho. At the bottom, he easily spots him leaned over the bar on the fence, in a heated conversation with a player who he recognizes is Jaejoong. All the heat is coming from him.

Jisung makes his presence known as he approaches, sending the bag flying directly into Jaejoong's face. It falls in front of Minho who picks it up and laughs. Jaejoong turns to Jisung, hands clenched and face red.

“There is a fly.” Jisung deadpans, innocently shrugging his shoulders. 

Jaejoong begins to speak, insults on the tip of his tongue like bullets in a pistol, but Minho empties his chamber before he can fire. He leans further against the railings, so far that Jisung can feel the dig into his stomach from where he’s standing. Minho grabs a handful of Jaejoong’s hair, brings him closer.

“You might want to rethink your next words.” Minho speaks in barely above a whisper, but Jisung is close enough to catch the threat, “Choose the wrong ones and you won’t ever play again.” 

Just as easily as Jisung forgets why Minho is feared, the sight reminds him. The giggly and pouty side of Minho is one only he gets to see, and it’s just one of his many sides. His front is another side, a more dominant one that strikes fear into the hearts of demons and would make the Devil shake in his boots. There’s something unpredictable, something chaotic.

Jisung notices, not for the first time, Minho is an enigma. 

“I am not afraid of you.” Jaejoong spats, matching Minho’s gaze. Even Jisung holds his breath as the words leave his mouth. He half-expects the sharp tug on hair and the high-pitched whine that escapes Jaejoong’s lips. 

“That’s not what the trembling of your legs is telling me.” 

Minho releases him, appearing bored out of his mind. He tosses the popcorn to Jisung, who catches it smoothly despite his unpreparedness. Minho doesn’t acknowledge the move.

“You’re crazy.” Jaejoong backs away from the fence, not willing to turn his back until he is a considerable distance away. Minho watches him go, ice cold stare killing him slowly within his mind. Jisung never wants to see that stare turned toward him, though he doubts Minho would ever give him such a look.

“Well, you managed to officially scare him off.” Jisung remarks for lack of a better alternative. The ice in Minho’s eyes is melted away when he looks at him, nothing but a warm pool of brown staring back. It changed in a split second, almost instantly.

“You know, I don’t feel like isting good popcorn on Jaejoong.” Minho pushes off the fence, expecting Jisung to follow when he walks down the track back toward where they snuck in. Jisung does.

“What do we suggest we do with it? I’m not throwing it away, it is seven dollars.” Jisung tucks into his jacket pocket and throws a leg over the wire, falling into step with the older as they trek through the woods behind the fields.

“I know a place.” Minho grins when he says it, almost proud of himself for coming up with the idea he has, “You up for a little more fence-hopping?”

“I’m guessing that means there will be a little more sneaking in?” 

“You’re correct.”

“Count me in.”

+++

Ten miles from the main town, when fancy suburbs gave way to open fields and crowded restaurants became scarce abandoned buildings, the gravel lot just off the road is home to a drive-in. Jisung knew of this place, The Twilight Drive-In where the owners lived above the makeshift concession stand. As a kid, his mother has brought him here a couple of times throughout the years. He remembers it in pieces.

Minho grins at the sign, chipped paint falling off the wood nailed to the front of a wire gate. He surpasses it entirely and heads for what he refers to as the “back entrance.” He takes out a switchblade and cuts the bottom of the fence enough to slip under, holding it open for Jisung to slide through. It’s dark enough that nobody sees them. 

Minho signals for him to wait with a smirk and he creeps up in between a car and a large truck. His steps are slow, movements almost lethargic. Then, he reaches into the truck bed and quick as lightning, snatches something from the back and creeps his way back. As he gets closer, Jisung sees it’s a blanket.

In a dramatic show, Minho lays the blanket on the gravel beside the fence, and gestures to it while bowing. Jisung holds in his laugh and sits on it, the thickness making the rocks beneath him bearable. Minho gets comfortable too beside, leaning against the fence.

“Okay, now how are we supposed to hear the movie?” Jisung prompts and he should be more surprised when Minho holds up his phone with a sly smirk. Minho opens the radio app on his phone, goes up to the family he just lifted a blanket off of and pretends he forgot the channel they tell paying customers at the gate. He gets the information and plugs in a pair of headphones as he returns.

They sit in close proximity, watching some awful 90s horror flick play on the big screen. The effects are comical and Minho loses his shit more than once at the “monster” the film is trying to convince everyone is scary. 

“What the fuck is the plot, I don’t understand.” Jisung whispers in between his laughter, his hand barely doing enough to muffle them. Minho snickers and leans over, though he doesn’t have to with how close they are sitting.

“He’s mad they stole his gold.” He says, giggles seeping their way into his short explanation. Jisung raises an eyebrow at him.

“But they aren’t even the ones who did it. What the fuck is going on?” 

Minho laughs harder and offers his own unique insight to the deeper meaning of the film. Jisung doesn’t believe it for a second, but he’s willing to let Minho have his fun pretending to understand such a pointless thing. At one point in the movie, which they have now deemed as the 1993 classic _Leprechaun,_ the monster is shown following the family on a tricycle, which causes Minho to laugh so hard, they nearly get kicked out for noise alone.

“This is genuinely one of the worst movies I think I’ve ever seen.” Minho whispers as the movie begins the spiral of events leading to the end. The blanket beneath them is less comfortable now, their thighs numb from the rocks and the backs tense where the fence digs in awkwardly. Minho is smiling though, like he’s never experienced more joy in his life.

“Bad movies are always more fun than good ones,” Jisung whispers back, lifting one of his shoulders in a shrug, “I’ve always liked them better.”

“What do you consider to be a good movie?”

“ _Sweeney Todd.”_

“I was expecting you to say _Fight Club._ ” 

Jisung half-heartedly punches him in the arm, no real power behind the hit. Minho grips the spot anyway, whining like a kicked puppy. 

“I have never even seen _Fight Club.”_

“What?!” Minho’s shriek earns them another round of annoyed glances, not that they have any effect on the other. They haven’t this entire time. “You’re a fighter and you’ve never seen _Fight Club_?” What about your origins, your history?”

“My origins are the douchebag from _The Breakfast Club._ I’m him but gay.” 

“Well, that won’t work.” Minho scoffs.

“Why’s that?”

The older gestures at his own face like it’s obvious. “Because I look _nothing_ like Molly Ringwald.” 

Jisung’s brain wants to acknowledge the implication in that, screams to acknowledge it but Jisung’s common sense tells him this is not a good idea in the slightest. Why Minho has to open his mouth and allow such things to exit it is beyond Jisung.

“Dye your hair orange, you’ll pass enough.” The fact that the sentence comes out smoothly is a miracle in itself. The way it makes Minho laugh is a miracle too and Jisung really thinks they’re going to need a third to keep them from getting a noise complaint at the drive-in they broke into.

“I think my scalp would burn itself alive.” 

“I was blond once, the bleach isn’t as terrible as it sounds.” 

Minho fixes him with a look that is nothing short of incredulous. The gears turning in his head reflect in his eyes, but his mouth doesn’t move. Jisung assumes he’s filing the information away for a later conversation, and watches as he just smirks at him.

It’s a response, though a rather mysterious one. Jisung thinks about all the things Minho could do with bleach and hair dye and he suddenly doesn’t want to know the thoughts that passed through his brain.

The credits begin rolling and Minho, in all his thief glory, throws the blanket near the truck’s tire. It looks like it just fell out, instead of being stolen and sat on for an hour and a half by two teenage criminals. They crawl back out the way they came in and trek through the small patch of woods before coming out beside the road.

Minho walks them back toward town, the rattling of his keys in his jacket pocket fill the night air’s emptiness with signs of life. They can hear the stadium from town square, the unmistakable roar from the crowd and the whistle that could blow eardrums. Minho ducks them into an alley in between an old cafe and what used to be a boutique.

“You know,” Minho starts after a few minutes of careful silence, “I don't think there is anyone in this town worth my while when I first moved here.”

“If the next thing out of your mouth is some cheesy rom-com bullshit, I think I’d rather shoot up with the used syringes at the junkyard.” Words flow easily from Jisung, his response dancing between the meaningful messages Minho is no doubt trying to convey. But they don’t do anything meaningful, and even if it’s only been a few weeks, they have their routine down to a science and there is no reason to change any of it. Jisung likes the way they are now, it doesn’t have to be anything.

“No, I was going to say nothing has changed and you’ve only proven my theory.” The sarcastic lift at the end of his sentence contradicts the words he says, but Jisung understands them fine. This is more what they do, the more comfortable of the two options. They say nothing because the other will know everything they aren’t saying. 

“Pardon me, you may continue then.” 

“I’ve lost my train of thought now, jackass.” Minho scoffs, his back to the wall. He just grins across the alleyway, resembling a cat that stares at a person it wants to bother. Jisung is that person.

“I’m sure it is riveting stuff.” 

“It is. I was fully prepared to give you an entire rundown on why I’m even speaking to you, but alas I can’t remember why I tolerate you.”

“The world may never know.”

Minho slides the pack of gum he carries with him from his pocket, tosses a silver wrapped stick to Jisung and takes one out for himself. He only carries peppermint or spearmint, never any other kinds. He’s particularly fond of the mint green packaging, sometimes just considering it sitting in the palm of his hand with a nod. Jisung thinks he’s lost his mind, but who’s to say he has it in the first place. 

“There’s a party next Saturday night,” Minho says, wrapping the empty silver paper up into a small square and shoving it in his pocket, “at Byungjun’s house. You interested in crashing it?”

“What if he tries to stab you again?” Jisung grimaces at the overpowering taste of spearmint filling his mouth before it levels out. Minho lifts a shoulder in an uninterested shrug. 

“I trust that you’ll watch my back.” It comes out so naturally, so easily that it really takes Jisung a minute to understand. A kid who wouldn’t speak to him for god knows how long is looking him in the face and telling him he trusts him to keep him alive. How manic.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re bringing me along? To keep you from getting murdered?” 

“Why else?” 

Jisung laughs and Minho follows. Minho takes the silver wrapper in his hand, folding it into the neat squares he likes to make and pocketing it alongside his own. The younger isn't sure what he does with those squares, or why he likes to make them, but Minho never throws them away. He always hangs onto little silver wrappers. 

“Yeah,” He says after a minute, “I’m down for ruining Byungjun’s night. I’ll probably steal his beer first though.”

“Let’s crash the party, steal the show, raid the liquor cabinet, punch Byungjun and then call the cops on it.” 

“You’re the spawn of Satan.”

Minho strikes a dramatic pose, basking in his new title. Jisung hits his arm as he twirls and the sound of voices carrying through the streets and growing closer sinks them further into the alley. A group of younger girls pass by, not even acknowledging the opening. They don’t see the boys tucked away in it, nor do they hear the faint chuckles that the two release when they’re out of sight. 

The two exit before anyone else can walk by and they head back in the direction of the stadium. Jisung mentally notes their shared tendency is kind of odd. Both of them have cars and can drive, but they choose to walk most of the time. 

Minho stops before they reach the school and turns, pointing down the street they’ve come to. 

“This is my spot, I would walk you home but I am not a stalker like you, so I don’t know where you live.”

“I think I’ll survive without your brave protection,” Jisung snorts, “but thank you for the offer.” 

He turns back into town, his feet switching into autopilot and carrying him home. He knows Minho is watching him leave, he can feel his eyes trailing over his spine. Before he makes it ten steps, he hears his voice call out.

“See you Monday!”

To which Jisung replies, “I hope not!”

He’s lying.

+++

On Monday, Jisung forfeits showing up to school entirely. 

His track record is bad and getting worse by the second, but he has already missed two of his classes by the time he awakes and fails to convince himself to go for the other five. His mother has gone away on another extended trip, leaving him with enough money for takeout every night and a fridge full of vegetables she bought at the market last minute. He never minds the long trips, despite his neighbors' ill placed pity of him.

Around two, he decides to go down to the junkyard, figuring he can at least practice his dart throwing skills on his day off. The path is well-trodden by a determined foot and feels familiar until the sole of his boot. He has memorized this path, the layout of the woods he cuts through as he has memorized his house. Getting there comes as naturally as going to his bedroom.

He comes up at the front entrance, near the road where the trucks leave the week's dumps. This is usually where he can find a few stranglers and his favorite group of travelers. Keonhee is there, as expected.

“Jisung!” He greets him with the usual smile, the one that is both welcoming and guarded all the same. Jisung returns it with one of his own, fairing in the genuine side. Keonhee straightens from where he is bent over, bringing a pillow up with him.

Keonhee is a little taller than Jisung, he’s got at least two inches on him, and he has a baby face that shines when he smiles. There’s braces on his bottom teeth, though Jisung doubts he still needs them. His hair is faded brown and messy, but clean.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” Jisung points at the pillow tucked under Keonhee’s arm. He presents it proudly, faded teal thread frayed just slightly at the edges. 

“One of the pillows the trucks dropped off. It’s a rare find, it doesn’t smell like smoke or death!” 

He stays with Keonhee for a while, picking over the trucks drops and collecting a few items he can put to use in the booth and his room. Keonhee fills his backpack with pillows, blankets and old clothes for his crew. Jisung even slips all the cash he has on him in the kid’s bag when he isn’t looking.

Eventually, Keonhee’s bag is full and he bids Jisung a quick goodbye as he heads down toward the bridge where he stays with the others. Jisung has seen the bridge, has walked over and under it. It isn’t the worst place they could be, but it is by no means the best. 

His trek to the booth is as easy as it is quick and he rounds the corner of the booth within minutes of parting ways with Keonhee. He doesn’t expect to see Minho laid out on the couch, folding a silver wrapper and popping bubbles with his mint gum. Jisung clears his throat and leans on the doorway.

Minho startles, landing in an upright position on the couch. He sends a glare to the doorway, already knowing who to expect. His bag is slung over one of the levers on the control panel, the chess pieces moved around as he builds a game against himself.

“One day, I’m not going to jump in fear and I will just simply knock you out.” He bites and falls back flat on the couch. Jisung doesn’t say anything to that and moves to kick his feet off the edge where he takes a seat. Minho sends him an incredulous look and moves his feet into Jisung’s empty lap.

“Considering the way you scream like a small child every time I even slightly startle you, I doubt your fight or flight will be choosing fight anytime soon.” He receives a hard kick to the thigh for the comment, but he honestly doesn’t mind it. 

“Where were you today anyway? I had to take on Jaejoong by myself, which isn’t anything too difficult, but still anticlimactic.” 

“Ah, I skipped.” That much is obvious and the silence following only means Minho is waiting on an elaborate explanation. He doesn’t have one to give. Jisung shrugs his shoulders and ignores the questioning glances.

They let the silence take them for a while, the only sound is that of nature and the muffled noise coming from Minho's earbuds plugged into his phone and shoved in his bag. He doesn’t do anything to turn it off or turn it down, but the quiet melody adds to the silence. Jisung doesn’t recognize the song, but it isn’t anything he would’ve guessed Minho listens to.

“Not to ruin the vibe we got going here,” Jisung cuts in after a few minutes of relaxing. Minho acknowledges him with a raised eyebrow, “but I was planning on hitting the gym today before it closes.”

Minho shakes his wrist and brings it up to his face, regarding his wristwatch with a hum. The arm tucked under his head pulls itself free and helps him sit up. 

“Sounds fun.” He remarks with a feigned yawn. Jisung rolls his eyes, lightly punching him in the shoulder. Minho rubs it with a small pout but doesn’t protest.

“You wanna come with? There’s hardly anyone there on weekdays after dinner and I don’t ever have anyone to annoy when I’m there.”

“I’ll come.” Minho says casually, “However, I will not be working out. I’ll spot you or something.”

“How did you become so strong if you don’t workout?” 

“I workout, just not typically with machinery.” 

Minho is on his feet within seconds, grabbing his bag and tucking the folded silver square into the side pocket. He sends Jisung a look, one that clearly reads _are you coming?_

They exit the junkyard through the back way, careful not to be seen by the trucks and to avoid running into the less friendly people that hang around the place. They don’t hang around often and when they do, Keonhee’s crew is usually quick to drive them away, but occasionally some slip through the cracks and Jisung never wants to see another broken beer bottle that close to his neck ever again. It is one of the few things he despises about the junkyard.

The walk to the gym isn’t as short nor easy as it is to the junkyard and to school. It’s further out, and though it’s only really a few miles away from those places, it takes half an hour to reach the building. It isn’t one of those places that requires a membership, but Jisung has one for as much as he comes here.

The lady behind the desk recognizes him and sends him a small wave at his arrival. He directs Minho to the locker rooms, where members have access to their own personal lockers. He digs out two pairs of clothes that he is sure are clean and throws some at Minho. 

“There’s stalls around the corner.” He points in the general direction, his discomfort at changing in front of each other very evident in his voice. He’s almost afraid Minho will poke fun at him for that, but he doesn’t even acknowledge it. Minho is quick to duck into one and lock it behind him. 

Jisung changes out as quickly as he can, practically tearing his jacket and shirt off his body and wrestling into a t-shirt. He is done long before Minho, who exits the stall about three minutes after Jisung is fully dressed with a bundle of his clothes in his arms. Jisung puts them in the locker next to his and locks the door.

The gym is practically deserted, as Jisung expected it would be. For some reason, nobody is ever here other than the staff around this time and it makes for a shining opportunity to workout in peace. Minho still looks around, albeit skeptical of even the staff.

“You okay?” Jisung whispers when they are far out of earshot from any lingering workers. Minho snaps out of his trance, automatically sending a small smile Jisung’s way. It does nothing to convince the younger.

“I’m not good at traditional workouts. I really don’t like people watching me do them.” He glances at the staff in point, who barely regard the two of them with more than a single glimpse. Still, Jisung understands the discomfort.

“You don’t have to do this, you can change back out and we can go back to the junkyard.” He sees the look that crosses Minho’s face, something he can’t read well but that is obviously not entirely in favor of that idea, “Or we could stay and you could spot me like you said. You can control the playlist, if you want.” 

“I hope you like Loona.” 

Minho takes his phone with all the ease and familiarity of someone who knows what’s on it. Jisung has nothing to hide, not really, but the sight pulls his eyebrows up to his hairline. Minho doesn’t seem to notice as he sorts through the music and turns on an upbeat song Jisung has forgotten the name of.

“Have you been snooping on my phone before?” Jisung asks, half-jokingly as he presses his back to the bench. He feels more than sees Minho move behind him and carefully lift the weight from its stand. He scoffs at the question.

“When would I have the time?” With a grunt, he exchanges the bar to Jisung’s awaiting hands, who brings it down to his chest and back up again, “Moreover, why would I care?”

Jisung makes it through three reps before answering, slowly bringing the weight up and down while Minho looks on, hands ready to catch it if it falls. He appreciates the burn in his arms, the pull in his bicep. 

“You’re sneaky, we both know this.” The bar goes up and he straightens his arm to hold it there for a second to breathe, “But it is your casualness of going through my phone that alerted me.”

Minho scoffs again, his hands inching further under the bar when Jisung begins to bring it back down. His palms are turned up, like he expects Jisung’s arms to give out under the weight. They don’t, much to what appears to be surprise on his face. 

“I noticed you color-code your apps. I knew which folder your music would be in because I know what color the app is, dumbass.” 

“And you call me the stalker.”

“Observation and stalking are two wildly different things.”

“Right. Just like how I _observed_ where you live.”

Minho takes his hands away and Jisung suddenly feels the weight strain his arms a lot more than it had before. The extra security taken away really makes an impact on his fast-paced reps but he tries not to show it in his face. He more than likely fails by the way Minho’s hands go under the bar again.

“Can I ask you a stupid question?” Jisung’s mouth runs without his knowledge.

“You mean to tell me that you considered all your other questions to be intelligent?” 

“I should’ve kicked your ass when I had the opportunity.”

“The way I remember it, it was _my_ fist flying towards _your_ face first, but whatever.”

“What’s the deal with Jaejoong?” It slips out before he can stop it. He hadn’t meant to ask it in that way, but his lack of control over his brain-to-words ratio wears away intention.

Minho stills. His hands are still open, palm up, but Jisung is positive that if he dropped this weight into his hands, it would fall right through them. He watches Minho blink several times, and then regain himself easily.

“What do you mean?” 

Jisung knows he should drop it. A reaction like that can’t mean anything good, but Minho is staring at him like he expects him to continue with his question and brushing it off now is too suspicious. He doesn’t even care about the answer he gets.

“It just… seemed like you hate him more than you hate everyone else.” Jisung trails off, unsure of how to phrase it without stepping over a line, “I mean like, antagonizing him and stuff.” 

Minho scoffs and the smug expression returns to his face.

“I just like seeing him riled up, it’s really easy to make him angry.” He grins, probably thinking about the other night at the football fence. 

Jisung says nothing in response to that and finishes his reps. Minho shuffles through his music again, sometimes only letting a song play halfway through before changing it to something entirely different. The bar goes in its stand and Jisung gets to his feet and makes his way over to another exercise machine.

“How do your arms not ache?” Minho follows him, phone in hand and a grimace on his face. 

“They do, every day. But I’m used to it.” 

Minho sits down on the machine next to him and watches him work, most of the time more interested in swapping between their phones than the actual working out. They spend an hour and a half at the gym, with Minho ping-ponging between their phones and Jisung bouncing around onto different machines. The workout feels nice.

“Do you need me to walk you home?” Jisung asks when they’ve left and returned to the junkyard. Minho raises an eyebrow, sending him a look of disgust as he takes over the younger’s sweaty frame.

“I am perfectly fine if you never come by my house ever again, actually.” He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder and walks backwards away from him, “See you tomorrow when you decide to show up.”

Minho throws him a mock salute and then launches his phone at his chest. Jisung scrambles to grab it and he barely manages before it hits the ground. The older boy is long gone by the time he opens it and sees a new playlist added in his music.

_MinMin’s <3\. _

+++

On Thursday, the first truly eventful thing of the week occurs. A boy Jisung doesn’t care to remember the name of decided to make a crude remark in regards to them. The second the words reached Minho’s ears, the kid was dragged down the hall by his ankles. Jisung happens to be around to witness it.

Jisung stands over the younger boy. His shorter frame usually doesn’t offer him much of an advantage, but it just so happens that this kid is shorter than he is, and it makes him feel way more powerful than he typically does. 

The kid’s nose is already bleeding, courtesy of Minho’s knuckles. The man in question has his back to the wall, leg propped up in a casual manner. He folds a gum wrapper into another silver square, sticking it in his pocket. 

“I just can’t figure it out, Minho.” Jisung says loudly. Minho cuts his eyes at him in interest, “How do you have the balls to run your mouth, but not the balls to stand on your own two feet?” 

Minho smacks his gum obnoxiously, hands in his jacket pockets. He circles the boy knelt in front of Jisung with disinterest, like he’d rather be anywhere but here. He’s pissed, but it’s concealed. 

The kid attempts to stand in defiance, but Minho swipes his feet out from under him. He hits his knees once more, hard enough to bust the skin against rock. 

Minho stops in front of the kid’s face where he stares at his boots. Jisung steps back as Minho crouches to the ground, eye-level with him. 

“Go on,” Minho says, his voice ice cold and sending a shiver down Jisung’s spine, “repeat what you called me back there. Say it.”

He jerks his head toward the school for emphasis. The kid stares back, not necessarily frightened, but annoyed. Minho stares back, unimpressed.

“Where’s all that spirit now? You had a lot of it when you were being watched by an audience. Has it disappeared now that the security of others has been removed?” 

The kid blinks and then, a laugh bubbles out of his chest. 

“They never had anything to do with it.”

Minho pretends to consider it, then his fist rears back and connects with the kid’s nose. Immediately, his hands fly up to hold it, and Minho straightens himself, picking at his nails. 

“This is what I mean! Nobody can walk around this school with you and your little boyfriend lurking around every corner!” His voice is muffled by his hands at his face, cradling just under his leaking nose. Minho doesn’t look like he even hears him, but Jisung knows he does.

“Ooh,” His voice is monotone, “look at you. You wanna kiss me and my little boyfriend so badly.”

“What?” The kid shrieks, a horrified expression crossing his face, “That’s disgusting! Why would I want to kiss you?!”

“Well, I happen to be very attractive and my _little boyfriend_ is just the prettiest, so I can understand your attraction.” He turns half over his shoulder to shoot Jisung a cheeky wink. Jisung stands there dumbly while he turns around to continue, “Unfortunately for you, this is a closed relationship.” 

Jisung hears the punch before it comes. He chooses to stand back for most of it, lets Minho wail all he wants until the kid fills the air between them with the familiar sound of pain-filled grunting. Minho gets to his feet then, wiping his thumb across his bottom lip, breath heavy.

“Boyfriend, huh?” 

Minho smirks, sending a glance back behind him at a non-existent third person in the conversation. He turns back to Jisung with feigned innocence and raised eyebrows.

“Who said that?” He ruffles Jisung’s hair as he passes, “I think you’re hearing things, Jisungie.” 

Byungjun sends out a text later in the day, scheduling his party for the week after. With his Saturday freed up, Jisung ponders how he should spend his time. Assignments for Felix have already been finished, and there isn’t much more he has to complete for his own classes.

Felix had informed him of the party reschedule, rightfully assuming he wouldn’t be on the list of recipients. He forwards it to Minho, whos nunber had mysteriously appeared in his phone after the gym. 

_M: How’d you get my number?_ He replies in seconds. 

_J: Don’t know. Think God must have put it there._ Jisung tosses his phone to the side in a half-assed attempt to convince himself he isn’t waiting for a text back. Two minutes barely pass before his phone vibrates and two more seconds go by as he grabs it and opens it.

_M: Blaming your stalking tendencies on the Gods now? For shame._

He fights back the roll of his eyes, though he knows no one would be around to see it. As he’d assumed, Minho is just as eccentric in text conversation as he is in real life.

_J: Perhaps you should have a talk with them if their methods for love bother you so much._

Minutes tick by without a response. Minho doesn’t have his read receipts on, so there is hardly a way to tell if he’s viewed the message. Jisung abandons his phone for the short while, using the window to go downstairs and sort through his money. He debates dinner silently, eye on the clock.

When he returns to his room, without a solid choice in mind, he finds two new messages waiting for him.

_M: I will, your behavior is very concerning._

_M: So, Byungjun’s is off for tonight, but I’ve already cleared my plans, so… you up to hang?_

Jisung is expecting it, he swears he is. But when the message comes through, so casually and naturally, he can’t help but smile and scramble for words. He feels like he’s fourteen and obsessing over a crush. But that’s not anything like what this is, right?

Minho is just a guy, a friend. He’s a guy friend, a good guy friend. 

_J: Depends what you think “hanging” is._

The response is instant.

_M: What the hell else could it mean?_

_J: I don’t know, you’re into weird shit._

Minho types for a solid three minutes. The bubble disappears and reappears several times and Jisung would find it amusing if he wasn’t waiting on a reply. He lets out a laugh around the fifth time it happens. 

_M: Whatever._

_M: Meet me in front of the junkyard in twenty._

Jisung isn’t sure what to dress for, so he just wears his sweats and hopes that this isn’t Minho’s unclear attempt to take him somewhere important. Then again, he wouldn’t be much better dressed in jeans and t-shirts, the core of his closet. He doesn’t own any nice clothes anymore.

His dinner plans scrapped, Jisung locks the door behind him on his way out. He considers driving for a split second, but decides against it. There is no use when everything in this town is within walking distance. 

Yet again, he finds himself zoned out as he walks the beaten track to the junkyard. He feels his phone vibrate every once in a while, a persistent Chan keeping an eye on him even on the weekends. He still hasn’t let go of the _one time_ he had to bail Jisung out of the county jail on a Saturday night. But that is a story for another time.

Jisung doesn’t find Minho at the booth. Instead, he’s walking the length of the bus roof when Jisung walks up and silently observes his friend struggling to keep his balance on the structure. He steps in the wrong area, his foot going through the hole and he wrestles to regain his posture.

Jisung cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand that I might touch that cheek!”

Minho stumbles, his foot falls back into the hole again and this time, it is near impossible to keep his other on the ground. He falls flat on his butt, hands catching most of the fall. He doesn’t slide off the structure, though he hangs on for dear life as if he might.

“Fuck you!” He screams from the top, his foot sliding from its trap, “I could’ve broken my neck!”

“Oh, how tragic would that have been.” Jisung's voice drips all the sarcasm he can channel into one sentence. Minho shoots a rather nasty glare his way, one that he receives with a blinding smile.

“You almost killed me so you could yell bad poetry at me?” 

Minho carefully slides off the side of the bus, landing on his two feet and unsteadily trying to walk. There is an attempt on Jisung’s behalf to keep his laughter inside of his mouth, but it fails and the look he gets in response is enough to murder a man. 

“That “bad poetry” is from our favorite play.” 

Minho pulls a face, but has to use the side of the bus for stability before he can reply. Another bubble of laughter comes from Jisungs mouth and Minho doesn’t even have the energy to fight him on it. 

“You know,” He says instead, pressing his back to the side of the ugly yellow contraption, “if this keeps happening, I’m going to start thinking you have a crush on me or something.”

Jisung shoots him an incredulous look. “ _You_ called _me.”_

“After you sold your soul to whatever devil to get my number.” He waves his hand dismissively, blinking away the pins and needles feeling in his feet to stand straight. He finally doesn’t feel as incapable of walking anymore.

“Like I said, the Gods must have planned it.” He catches up with Minho, subtly walking alongside him as a support in case he falls suddenly. “Where are we going anyway?”

“You took me to the gym, so I’m taking you to dojo.” Minho beams, his hands clasping together in hardly-contained excitement. Jisung raises an eyebrow, makes a point to steer them away from the syringes nearby as he stares Minho down.

“You want to spar?” 

“Precisely.”

Minho doesn’t look at him, doesn’t say anything more as he leads them away from the junkyard. They walk back into town, to where the park meets the main road and stop by the curb. Minho climbs in the driver’s seat without so much as a look. His window rolls down a second later.

“You coming?” 

Jisung hesitates for only a second. Any thoughts against this plan are immediately pushed to the back of his mind when Minho raises an eyebrow. He climbs in the passenger’s seat as quick as his legs allow him to.

“Where is this dojo?” Jisung asks as Minho pulls out onto the main road. Minho doesn’t say anything for several seconds, focusing primarily on the traffic and bustling streets in front of him. The town gets pretty busy on weekends, especially closer to the night. It isn’t because there is a lot to do, but precisely the opposite. There’s nothing to do, so people hit the town.

“It’s about twenty minutes away.” Minho replies as they go under the red light taking them away from the town center. For a moment, he pretends that the town doesn’t exist, that this is just him and Minho and a vague destination in mind. Only for a moment.

“In the neighboring town?” 

“Look at you, using your big, sexy brain, Jisungie.” 

Jisung rolls his eyes and turns the radio up louder to drown out Minho’s laughter. It’s oddly comforting, like he’s done this before. He isn’t a stranger to the calming effect Minho’s presence has on him, but it seems to make so much more of one when they are completely alone. 

The drive is filled with pop music, all from Minho’s phone and his ridiculously disorganized playlists. His hand movements tell which he knows the dances to, a sign Jisung watches for everytime the chorus of a new song hits. The best part is Minho’s nonchalance, like the movements are subconscious. 

The neighboring town can’t even be compared to the one they live in. The streets are longer, evidently dirtier, with more people than their town has ever seen. The main town is a six-mile stretch of nothing but shops, restaurants and stores, and a three-lane highway on each side. The only time Jisung ever comes here is for grocery shopping or takeout.

Minho slides into a parking space around the back of a large bank, but he leads them across the street to where an unmarked shop rests between a seafood restaurant and an attorney’s office. There isn’t a bell over the door to jingle when they walk in, there isn’t a ready receptionist behind the front desk to greet them with a cool smile. If the door hadn’t opened so easily, Jisung would assume the place was closed.

“Shownu?” Minho calls out as he removes his jacket. There’s a coat rack just around the corner, only two coats hanging limply. Jisung hangs his up beside Minho’s, checking his phone one last time before sliding it into the pocket.

“Minho? Is that you?” A male voice shouts from nearby. Jisung can’t guess where it’s coming from.

“No,” His friend scoffs and Jisung watches in slight alarm as Minho moves behind the counter and takes a peppermint from the bowl under the desk, “I’m a stranger. I’m here to rob you, give me all your money and cat food.”

The voice chuckles loud enough to echo back to them, and Jisung squirms at the anonymity. He feels like he’s being watched, stalked perhaps by some predator waiting to tear into him. 

“Dry food or wet food?” The question is accompanied by loud footsteps just above their heads. 

“Dry.” 

“Sorry,” The voice is closer now, not as loud, and Jisung pinpoints the noise finally. There’s a staircase to their left, behind the front desk and he sees a shadow creeping down the beige carpeted steps. He watches it intently, until the shadow gives way into a man much taller and muscled than he.

“We’re all out of dry food.” 

Despite his incredible hulk-like size and powerful echo, the man speaks softly and has a kind smile. The white karategi around his body is tied with a black belt and Jisung doesn’t have to be Einstein to know what that means. He’s a decent fighter, but this man could absolutely throw him through the floor in one swing.

“You see, no wet food would’ve been acceptable. Disappointing, but acceptable. But no dry food? I might have to kill you.” The mint breaks under the weight of Minho’s teeth, and his grin is as mischievous as it always has been. 

“The stuff you asked me to get is behind the counter.” The man breaks their joke to point and Minho leans his full body over the front to peek at it. He gives a satisfied hum in response and a head nod.

“I’m going to spar a little bit today,” Minho doesn’t ask, but rather tells the man, “what time is your next class?” 

The man looks at his watch, “Last class is in an hour. But Wonho’s last one finishes in about ten minutes and then you can use the back room.” 

Minho nods and sneaks behind the desk again to grab another handful of mints. The look the man gives him is less than approving, but Minho and all of his mature glory only sticks his tongue out at him. The man rolls his eyes, but does nothing to stop him.

“Also,” He exclaims before Minho can poke around behind the desk any further, “I am being incredibly rude right now.”

He turns to Jisung, full body looking much more intimidating when angled at the perfect position to chop him in the throat. He subconsciously takes a step back, arms winding in front of him to block his face if need be.

“My name is Shownu,” Jisung does his best not to flinch when the man extends his hand, “I run this dojo with some of my buddies. Sorry for being rude earlier, Minho doesn’t have friends to bring here usually.”

“How are you going to be a liar _and_ an asshole?” 

“Anyway.” 

Shownu ushers them to the changing rooms, despite Minho’s protests that they didn’t have to change out. He insists Minho change out of his jeans before he steps on their mat, but Jisung half-believes his insistence is just to save his mint bowl. Minho’s pockets are already overflowing with the candies, but he didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping there.

The time that it takes for him to forfeit his fight with Shownu and change out is enough for the back room class to end. Children run past them, straight out the front door to where their parents have gathered at the front steps. A man who Jisung assumes to be Wonho steps out a second later and offers him a warm smile.

The back room is enormous. The ceiling is at least thirty feet high, blue mats in the center of a polished floor. There’s white stadium on either side of the room and a room two floors up overlooking the center, thick glass panels separating the rooms. Fluorescents beam down on them from above.

“Is this where you learned to fight?” Jisung walks to the center of the mat, bouncing on his heels to check the grip. It’s solid. 

“Shownu taught me when I was younger,” Minho throws his jeans to the side as he walks in, now clothed in black sweats like Jisung, “but I grew out of his classes when I was thirteen.” 

“You don’t fight like a trained karate champion.” 

“You don’t talk like someone with less than two braincells either.” 

Jisung rolls his eyes, unfazed by Minho’s quips at this point. 

“You still fight wildly. It’s not really the trained athleticism I would expect from someone who was taught in a dojo.”

“Let me ask you a question.” Minho steps onto the mat, the soles of his shoes making it squeak in protest. Jisung stands still as he crosses the length of it in seconds and stops right in front of him. The look on his face is somewhere between arrogant and humorous. 

“Who do you think is the better fighter?”

He should be more prepared for the arm that comes flying up next to his face. He barely blocks it in time before it smashes into his cheek, but his forearm is enough to send it back down to Minho’s side. 

“You don’t want me to answer that.” He says and he is prepared this time when Minho’s left knee tries to collide with his thigh. As soon as he pushes it back to the ground, he puts all the force he can into swinging at the older’s head. Minho anticipates this and ducks as the fist glides through the ghost of his body. 

Jisung’s left fist swings and Minho stops it dead in its tracks with the palm of his right hand. The smirk that settles over his face would be unsettling if Jisung wasn’t so focused on the rest of his body movements. The hand holding his fist begins to bend it back and Jisung knows well by now that he has to distract him.

He swipes under with his right, and when Minho blocks it with his free left hand, he immediately brings up his right leg. Minho releases his hold to push away the knee flying at his stomach. His right leg comes off the ground instantly and makes a swing for the side of Jisung’s neck. He catches it just in time and before it can fall back to the floor, he swipes Minho’s stable leg out from under him.

Minho falls to his back, as Jisung expected but just as he hits the ground, his other leg swings out and takes out Jisung’s ankles as well. They’re both in the ground now and Minho has had a second longer to gain his bearings. That second is all he needs to scramble on top of him.

Jisung remembers this trick, remembers what his mom told him to do in this event. He brings both feet up, locks his ankles behind Minho’s head and pushes hard. It gets the older off of him, sends him a few feet backwards and that allows enough time for Jisung to switch their hands. He sits right on his stomach and pins his arms before they can move. 

“You know,” Minho looks way too smug for Jisung’s liking right now, “if you wanted to kiss me, you could’ve just asked.”

He’s been swinging at Minho’s head for several minutes now, every time lacking purpose but he really, _really_ wants to punch him with everything he has right now. He doesn’t, but only because Minho takes advantage of his flustered deep thoughts and seizes the opportunity to flip them over. 

He remembers this time to secure Jisung’s legs and it renders him basically hopeless. As much as Minho is smirking, you’d think he just won the lottery. 

“I win.” He says with a cheeky grin and if Jisung had control over _any_ of his limbs right now, he’d swing so hard. He doesn’t though, so he lays there, pinned and exasperated.

He isn’t quite sure what to say or do now. The logical thing to do is tell Minho to get off of him, accept his defeat with the grain of salt. He could roll his eyes and make a joke about how he can’t feel his legs because they really are going numb under Minho’s weight. However, he does neither of these things and only stares up at his opponent dumbly and silently.

“Bragging as if I didn’t teach you that move.” A voice cuts through the tension and releases some of the weight on Jisung’s legs. He peels his back off the sweaty mat and sits up, Minho rolling over to sit at his side now. The older’s nose crinkles when he sees their new arrival.

“What did you want me to do? Cite it?” Minho pulls himself to his feet, not even bothering to look at Jisung as he extends his hand back to him, “Want me to write “credits to Jooheon” on my forehead everytime I execute it?” 

The man scoffs and instead of answering Minho, he turns to Jisung. He’s taller, with dimples and a cute eye smile, but his muscles definitely give off a subtle intimidation.

“I’m less interested in your whining and more interested in why you’ve finally brought somebody home to meet the folks.” It takes Jisung a moment to realize the man is not talking _to_ him, but rather talking _at_ him. He isn’t sure if the response part falls on him or Minho.

“Why are you and Shownu pains in my ass?” Minho raises an eyebrow and Jisung is silently thanking him for taking the lead on the answer. The man—Jooheon, he assumes—is still looking directly at him.

“You said you hated everyone and everything about your new school.” 

“I hated everyone and everything about my old school too. This is not groundbreaking news.” 

“If I recall correctly, you don’t typically bring home someone from a place where you hate everyone.” Jooheon crosses the room as the sentence exits his mouth, wide smile taking his features as he stops right in front of Jisung and extends a hand, “My name is Jooheon.” 

“Jisung.” He slowly and cautiously takes his hand. Once he concludes the man will not break it in half, he holds it a little firmer and gives it a shake. Jooheon releases him in favor of turning to Minho with a smug expression.

“So, care to explain?” 

Minho’s annoyed scoff is loud and expected, and it doesn’t faze Jooheon in the slightest. He is still standing right in front of them; hands clasped behind his back as he waits for that explanation. 

“Jisung is… tolerable.” Minho states weakly, gesturing in his direction with a vague hand movement. Jooheon’s eyebrows go up to his hairline, but Jisung doesn’t think it’s a surprise. The gesture is rooted in amusement. Jisung, however, is highly offended.

“Tolerable?” He shrieks and Jooheon claps his hands with a delighted laugh, “Tolerable?! You text me on a Saturday evening and request that I forfeit my plans—“

“You had none.”

“—to come spar with you in a town thirty minutes from where I live, only to turn around and say I’m _tolerable?_ ”

Jooheon snorts and Minho shoots him a glare as deadly as they come. It doesn’t affect him at all, in fact, he begins to laugh harder. Jisung doesn’t pay any mind to him at the moment, too busy acting (and secretly being) offended by the comment. 

“What did you expect me to say? “Oh, this is Jisung, my knight in shining armor, he is the one good thing about this place and the light of my life”? Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

“Well, it’s a nice start.” Jisung narrows his eyes. Minho rolls his and crosses his arms over his chest with a huff.

“Oh, please.”

“I showed you my junkyard and you have the audacity to say I’m only tolerable.” Jisung turns his body away, holding a hand in front of his face to avoid looking at Minho. The elder is not at all amused by his dramatics, which are making Jooheon crack up even more.

“You have to make sure we don’t step on used syringes every day we go there. Your junkyard is nice but it is not exactly a palace.” 

Jisung makes another offended sound, this time in the form of a loud gasp. His hand goes flat over his chest, mouth agape and staring horridly at his friend. Minho is watching him boredly.

“You have dishonored the king and now you dishonor his throne.” 

Jooheon’s laughter brings them back to the moment when he claps a hand on Jisung’s shoulder. He’s grinning ear-to-ear, and he pulls Jisung until the smaller is pressed into his side. 

“I have to side with him on this one.” Jooheon says, giving Jisung’s shoulder it’s third friendly wheeze in the span of two minutes. He doesn’t really mind the friendly squeezing, though being pressed into a stranger’s side isn't his ideal. 

“Are you only siding with him just because you want to be a bitch?” Minho reaches forward and snags Jisung’s arm, pulling him out from under Jooheon’s arm and back into the center between them. He lets go immediately instead of pulling him all the way over.

“No, I’m siding with him because he can kick your ass and that is _long_ overdue.” 

Minho’s scoff can be heard throughout the entire dojo, but he offers no other form of protest. Jooheon stands back at his request and watches them intently. The next few spar rounds go at the same pace, but without a winner every time. They know how the other moves and how to block it, and it ends up a draw. 

By the time they’ve run through the same song and dance at least eight times, their t-shirts are stained with sweat and their hair is matted to their foreheads. Minho flops down on the mat, eyes closed and limbs sprawled out. Jisung kicks his side gently when he stands, just to make sure he’s alive.

“I’m going to go get changed.” Minho announces when he finally peels himself off the ground. He grabs his jeans and heads for the locker room without waiting for a response.

“You’ll probably have to shower at your place.” Jooheon calls to him before he reaches the locker room, “The water is cold.”

“You seriously haven’t fixed that yet?” Minho groans. Jooheon rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest.

“You want to pay to fix it?” Jooheon raises his eyebrows in Minho’s direction, who barely acknowledges the gesture. He groans again and heads for the locker rooms anyway.

“I’m going to go change.”

The locker room door closes behind him and Jisung mentally calculates the seconds he will be left alone and in the open with Jooheon. He seems nice and he hasn’t done anything to insinuate he wants harm to come to him, but he’s weary regardless. It seems his suspicions were right, because Jooheon turns immediately around to stare at him.

“Minho has never brought someone here in the thirteen years he has gone to school.” Jooheon skips the small talk and uses the three minutes and twenty seven seconds they have before Minho is done changing. Jisung tries to shrug. 

“Maybe I’m special.” 

“Oh, you’re special alright.” Jooheon doesn’t say it with anything malice, so Jisung takes it as a compliment, “But the question is why are you special?” 

Jisung stares at the older blankly. He knows Jooheon isn’t really asking _him_ , it was more rhetorical. His eyes sweep over Jisung, like he’s silently picking him apart just to find out what it is exactly. Still, Jisung doesn’t like people looking at him for too long.

“We fight together.” He blurts and at the odd look he receives, continues, “I mean, we kind of teamed up. We had common interests and after a few times, we just kind of became a team.”

The last part comes out more as a question than a statement, but Jooheon seems to understand fine. He’s studying Jisung again, but not in the same way. Instead of trying to take him apart, he’s now trying to sort through his pieces. Minho comes out of the locker room before he can finish, his jeans back on and sweatpants thrown aside. 

“It’s late and I’m starving, you want to pick up something?” The inquiry is obviously directed at Jisung, who nods enthusiastically, but Jooheon answers as well.

“Oh yes, I’d love something to eat.”

“Wasn’t asking you.” Minho replies, his eyes never leaving Jisung. Jooheon makes an offended sound as Minho all but drags Jisung from the back room. Shownu is still in his last class, but Wonho is standing by the front desk now, phone in hand and a lollipop in his mouth. He smiles when he looks up and spots them coming his way.

“Hey Min.” He greets around the stick of his red candy, “I didn’t hear you come in. Who’s your friend?” 

Minho grabs their jackets, passing Jisung’s to him as he slides his own on. He doesn’t answer Wonho immediately, instead moving behind the counter to sneak more mints. Wonho doesn’t even look surprised. 

“This is Jisung.” Minho introduces them as he slips the extra mints into Jisung’s pocket. His own are overflowing at this point and he takes it upon himself to use Jisung’s as extra holders. The younger doesn’t mind, doesn’t protest as he fills them.

“Nice to meet you.” Wonho extends a hand and Jisung takes it with a friendly grin. Minho is turning circles around him, trying to figure out if there are any more pockets he can stuff full of candy. When he concludes that they are all full, he moves to stand beside Jisung. 

“We’re on our way out, but I just wanted to bring him here to show him how we spar.” 

Wonho nods and gives Jisung a look of consideration. Yet again, he squirms under such a gaze, but he refuses to step back. Wonho looks like he has something else to say, something resting on the tip of his tongue, but he chooses not to. He bids them goodbye and walks back towards where Jooheon is leaning against the doorway.

He follows Minho out, weaving through the crowd gathered on the sidewalk like second nature. Jisung doesn’t care for crowds, so he chooses to stick close to Minho’s back as he guides them to the other end of the street. The roads are busy, but the sidewalks are busier, Minho has to tug on Jisung’s jacket sleeve several times to keep him from falling into open traffic. 

Restaurants on every corner have lines wrapping around the buildings and Minho quickly decides he is too hungry for any of that. They walk further down the street, hoping to find a fast food place without a thirty-minute wait time, but there doesn’t seem to be one around.

“Want to just order pizza and go back to the junkyard?” Jisung proposes when he sees Minho growing frustrated. The older sends him a smile and reaches up to ruffle his hair.

“You are so smart, Jisungie.” 

The junkyard is better anyway, less noise and less crowds and it gives them time to debate their sparring session. Minho definitely thinks he won the most, but Jisung isn’t that willing to let him have it. And when they both part ways with an empty pizza box thrown in the dumpster behind the closest shop, there most definitely aren’t smiles on both their faces. 

Definitely.

+++

An uneventful week follows their eventful Saturday evening. Jisung actually goes for most of it, but it seems this is the week the homophobes and racists have quieted down. The silence won’t last, their egos will get inflated soon enough and they’ll have to beat it out of them again, but for now, there is peace.

Minho doesn’t seem to care about being seen hanging around with Jisung. The younger thought he would for sure be against it, because his reputation as the silent and deadly mystery was established the day he transferred, but he seems to have let that go. He doesn’t talk to anyone else, and his looks can be less than friendly when he doesn’t know the people who approach them, but he sticks to Jisung’s side like glue for as long as he can.

On Wednesday, while he’s wandering the halls when he’s supposed to be taking a test, Jisung doesn’t have Minho by his side. He’s halfway across the building, stuck in lab and totally not blowing up Jisung’s phone with cat emojis. Totally. 

It’s during this time, when he’s walking the halls alone, that he is approached by the least likely of people.

“Before you knock the shit out of me,” Eunho begins, his hands positioned in front of him for defense, “let me just say that I have something to tell you.” 

“Looks to me like somebody already did.” Jisung points to his own face where the bruise marks Eunho’s eye, the kid has the audacity to look sheepish, “You have five seconds to say whatever it is before I swing.”

Eunho swallows harshly and he closes his eyes as he straightens. Mentally, Jisung is counting the seconds he takes to prepare himself. He wasn’t looking for a fight when he came out here, but he is never opposed to one. Eunho breathes deep and opens his eyes.

“Five, four, three—“

“Can you please just get with that Minho kid already?” 

Jisung, for once in his seventeen years, is stunned into silence. Eunho gulps and takes an instinctive step back, though Jisung hasn’t moved. They just stare at each other, dead silence stretching on.

“Excuse me?” Jisung gets his bearings enough to choke that out, though the strain can be heard from a mile away. A _homophobe_ is encouraging Jisung to get a boyfriend? That’s a first. 

“Look, this is going to sound really weird, because it was,” Eunho reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, “but last week when you weren’t here, he kind of cornered me and dragged me to the bathroom to dunk my head in a toilet continuously.”

If Jisung wasn’t so shocked, he would’ve laughed. That sounds like Minho, sounds so much like him that he doesn’t doubt Eunho for a second. 

“He was taunting me and stuff, and in the midst of it, kind of ended up rambling… about you.” 

That… also isn't a shock to Jisung. He and Minho spend so much time together, and as far as he knows, he’s really Minho’s only friend at this school. It isn’t a shocker that Minho talks about him, no matter how weird the sudden feeling in his chest is.

“Okay? I don’t see how this warrants you running up to me in the halls. Seriously man, you just got drowned in a public bathroom toilet a week ago and already want to get your ass kicked again?” 

Eunho sighs, but Jisung can sense the way he is pressing himself backwards, subconsciously putting distance between himself and Jisung.

“I’m only approaching you because quite frankly, I don’t care if he slams the back of the toilet seat over my head, I deserve it, but I cannot stand to hear about how sparkly your eyes are while he does it.” 

Jisung just stares at him, dumbfounded. Eunho doesn’t waste any more time explaining it to him and just bids him good luck under his breath as he steps away. The bell rings seconds later and Jisung’s feet automatically take him to the lab.

He waits by the door, still replaying the conversation in his head. The students leaving either avoid his gaze or run out as fast as they can when they spot him. Honestly, it’s a little funny. 

Minho comes out last, looking like he’d just returned from war rather than a lab day. His jacket is sling over his shoulder instead of hugging his body over the white t-shirt. He looks exhausted.

“I just had the weirdest conversation.” Jisung mumbles, falling into step with him instantly. Minho glances and hums in acknowledgment, sliding his jacket on when they’re further down the hall.

“And _I_ just had the worst test I have ever taken in my entire life.” He shakes his head as if to clear his memories of it, “Apparently, not showing up for ninety percent of the class means you don’t understand a single thing about the course material. How wild.”

Jisung is easily side-tracked with the comment. He pushes Eunho and the weird conversation to the back of his mind in favor of talking about this first. He’ll get to it later.

“Did you cheat?” He asks offhandedly, not expecting the offended gasp that leaves Minho’s lips. He should’ve expected it, he knows him well enough by now. Minho places a hand to his chest.

“You take me for a criminal?” His voice is airy, but a few chuckles slip in there and give him away.

“We vandalized a building.”

“That was reparations for capitalism.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

“ _Anyway_ , no, I didn’t cheat. I turned in the test blank.” He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. Jisung slaps him across the arm, and he lets out a loud shriek. 

“What the fuck, Minho.”

“I had no idea what was going on,” Minho defends himself by smacking Jisung’s unrelenting arm away, “there was no need in wasting both our time.” 

“You’re going to fail.” Jisung sighs and finally stops hitting his arm. Minho rubs it, dramatic. He didn’t even hit it that hard.

“No, I’m going to get my grade up to barely a sixty before the term ends and skirt by.” 

Jisung can’t even try to suppress his groan. Minho gives a look of actual offense this time, but Jisung just waves a hand at him. 

“You are _so_ unbelievable.” He retorts and Minho rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, you didn’t even show up for over half of last week.” 

“Fair.”

They take a turn down one of the lower hallways, ignoring the looks they receive from their peers. It brings the conversation with Eunho back to the front of his mind, though he can’t figure out how to fit it into the conversation now. Minho speaks before he can.

“Hey, you want to meet up Saturday before the party?” 

Jisung is only a little caught off guard, but manages to say, “Oh. I almost forgot. Yeah, where do you want to meet?”

“Is my house okay? Since you already stalked me, you should find it easily.” The smirk Minho sends him as he says it is smug, but Jisung still rolls his eyes. Minho’s delighted laugh rings through his ears.

“I didn’t stalk you.” He defends himself weakly, “But yes, I know where your house is.” 

“Come in through my bedroom window. I can't have my mom seeing me associating with a heathen like yourself.” 

“Because I’m what she’s worried about, not her son’s failing grades.”

“Nearly failing. And you’re the source of those poor grades.”

Jisung nearly stops dead in the hallway. He doesn’t but only because he is aware that he will get rammed into if he does. He turns an incredulous look on Minho.

“How is that my fault?”

“Simple. If you didn’t always need backup, I wouldn’t be out of class all the time and I wouldn’t be nearly failing.” 

“I don’t need—“

“Oh, this is my stop. Bye Jisungie.” 

Minho ducks into a classroom on their left, leaving Jisung standing there with his defense ready. He groans and rolls his eyes but makes his way to his classroom as well. 

Yet still, the conversation with Eunho plays in his mind like a broken record.

+++

Despite Minho’s teasing, Jisung really hadn’t stalked him at all. Him finding Minho’s house relied purely on dumb luck, but it didn’t seem like that luck was making a comeback today. He admittedly got lost in the big neighborhood a few times, walking back and forth down a cul de sac before realizing he made a wrong turn.

He recognizes the house as soon as he sees it, cursing himself for not picking it out sooner. That army green door matching the color of Minho’s signature jacket should’ve been the dead giveaway. He climbs the house again, careful not to step on any of the creakier wood pieces Minho had warned him about. 

Within seconds of being on the roof, Minho’s window opens, curtains pulled back and staring at Jisung in broad daylight. He scoffs and reaches through, pulling the boy in with so much force, he nearly falls over the sill. One of the cats, though Jisung is positive it is not the same one as before, regards him with a look of distaste.

“I don’t think your cat likes me very much.” He points to the feline vaguely and Minho’s snort can be heard across the room. He meets eyes with the cat, who seems to be glaring at him. 

“Doongie doesn’t like anybody. Including me sometimes.” Minho flops down on his bed, his t-shirt riding up slightly. Jisung’s gay thoughts begin to run rampant, but he wrestles then under control and looks away before they can take over his entire brain.

“I didn’t bring any clothes, figured I would just wear this.” Jisung settles on the bed next to him and just now takes notice of the assortment of products layed out in front of him. Theres three bags, overflowing with makeup products he has never before seen in his life. 

“No way,” Minho sits up and observes Jisung’s generic clothing, “we’re going to _crash a party._ You can’t crash a party in sweats and a t-shirt.”

He pulls himself off the bed, moving Doongie from the perch next to the closet and sorts through his clothes. Jisung just groans and watches on.

“Why not?”

“Crashing a party is about stealing away the attention. It’s about making a statement. You cannot do that while wearing the same clothes you wear every other day.” Minho grabs a piece from his closet. inspects it and tosses it aside. Jisung just rolls his eyes.

“We’re onto going to be there for like an hour.”

“And an eventful hour it will be, which is why you’re not going until we are dressed to model status.” 

“What are _you_ wearing?” 

Minho throws his preplanned outfit at him while he sorts through his closet for something that will fit him. Jisung inspects the outfit, a silk blue shirt with black ripped jeans laid in his lap. He observes them carefully, trying to picture what Minho will look like in them. It’s hard to picture it, with Minho’s usual wardrobe of white t-shirts and that army green jacket, but the change is welcome and anticipated. 

“Here!” Minho tosses ripped black jeans similar to the ones he plans to wear into his lap. A second later, a black mesh bodysuit follows with a leather jacket. Jisung stares at the bodysuit in dead silence.

“Why am I going naked?” He holds it up, watches the light stream through the holes the way he thought it would. Oh man.

“Shut up, the jacket will cover most of it.” Minho comes back over, shoving the outfit into his arms, “Now, go change, I want to see how you look.”

Jisung sticks his tongue out, but reluctantly makes his way to the bathroom. It’s a large bathroom, pristine white sinks and clean mirrors that stretch the length of the floor. It’s clean beyond what clorox does for his own. He pushes those thoughts aside and looks down at the outfit in his hands. He doesn’t really have much of a choice.

The bodysuit isn’t as tight as it looks, but that’s probably because his torso and Minho’s aren’t the same. The pants are a little baggy around the tights, most definitely a characteristic of Minho’s. The jacket fits fine and doesn’t hug him awkwardly the way he thought it would. Overall, the outfit isn’t terrible and it actually does look really good. He’ll never admit that to Minho. 

When he walks out of the bathroom, there’s applause waiting for him and Minho has already changed into the outfit set out for himself. It looks good, _really_ good and Jisung once again takes a stick to his gay thoughts. 

“Woah,” Minho says when he sees Jisung standing in the doorway, “I am a god.”

Jisung scoffs but chooses not to say anything. He didn’t want to admit that Minho may be right. He waits for the elder to finish clicking the backs onto his earrings before he says anything.

“So, what now?” 

Minho smiles excitedly and jumps on the bed, sending the bags flying a few inches up and contents to spill out. There’s palettes of eyeshadows and eyeliners all around them, and Jisung catches on at the very last second what Minho intends to do.

“The look isn’t complete yet.” Minho insists as Jisung eyes the makeup with round eyes, “This is absolutely essential.”

Jisung shakes his head with force. It isn’t that he hasn’t worn makeup before, or that he didn’t like it. His mother had once come home to find him staring in awe of her cream eyeshadows and had shown him how to use and apply them. He likes makeup, has always been fascinated by the application of it.

But Jisung has been gay enough for long enough to know how this will go down. There isn’t a mirror within the pile of items spread out in front of them and they don’t seem to be moving toward the bathroom. No, he knows enough to know how this is going to go and he is _too_ gay for that.

“We can skip this part, really.” He does his best to brush it aside, even if he knows the effort is useless, “I really don’t need to commit to the full look.”

Minho has already made up his mind. Jisung is well aware of this and is also well aware that his chances of squeezing out of this are slim to none. It still doesn’t stop him from attempting it. 

Minho just shakes his head like he can’t believe what he is hearing. And maybe he can’t, because honestly the outfit really does compliment Jisung the more comfortable he gets in it and the full look would _really_ blow everyone away. 

“Are you uncomfortable wearing makeup?” He asks and Jisung is taken so off-guard by the question that all he can do for several seconds is blink. Minho looks concerned right now, eyebrow pencil perched in his hand.

“What? No, it’s not that.” Really, it’s the opposite, but he doesn’t say that. His answer only further confuses Minho.

“If you’re uncomfortable with it, I won’t do it. You look really good already, Sung.” 

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable it’s just...“ 

“Just what?” 

Jisung can’t say what he is. He can’t and he won’t because acknowledging the root of his fear acknowledges a whole lot of other shit Jisung has been combating in silence for a little while. If he allows those thoughts to surface, he will never be able to push them back down again. So, he’ll have to suck it up for right this second.

“You know what, you’re right.” He forces himself to say, despite the lump in his throat, “I think it’ll be an interesting look.” 

“You sure?” Minho doesn’t look convinced, but Jisung musters his most sincere smile. It seems to work a little, because the crease in between Minho’s brows disappears. 

“Yes.” He puts so much certainty behind that word, so much that he does not feel and situates himself on the bed. Minho grins and shrugs, comparing two eyebrow pencils before choosing the darker one. He uncaps the silver cap and shifts closer.

Jisung was right. This was absolutely the way he was planning to go about it. Minho moves until their knees are touching, directly in front of Jisung and face way closer than it had ever been before. He’s concentrated on Jisung’s brows and Jisung feels the tickle of the pencil tracing them as he takes deep breaths.

It takes only about a minute for him to do both, but it could’ve been an eternity and Jisung wouldn’t have noticed. In Jisung’s mind, his personal Hell would consist of Lee Minho, right in his face and tracing lines on his face for the rest of his afterlife. He just hopes he isn’t going to Hell.

Minho moves to his eyes next and he gets to close them for the time being. He’s silently thankful that he no longer has to look the older directly in the face whilst fighting his mental war, but the breath fanning over his face that smells like spearmint is not much better. 

He feels the brushes glide over his eyelids, feels the smooth pads on Minho’s fingertips brushing under his eyes as he clears the fallout. He does not, under any circumstance, open his eyes and Minho just hums in appreciation at that. 

Everything is _so_ hot in this room. 

He tries not to think about it at all, tries to let his mind go blank. When that doesn’t work, he tries to think of schoolwork for Felix or fighting. Thinking about fighting doesn’t do much good, because Eunho’s words flow right back to the front of his brain. God, why did he have to think about fighting?

“You okay?” Minho asks, but it comes out in more of a soft whisper because he’s right there in his face, “Your eyebrows pinched together just then.” 

“Uh,” Jisung starts, dumbly and caught off guard, “I’m fine. It just tickled.”

He both hears and feels Minho’s soft chuckling. The brush is back on his eyelids, moving back and forth in what would’ve been calming had anybody else been doing it. His brain really does go blank when Minho blows a steady stream of air over his eyes and softly brushes the corner of them. Yeah, he’s in Hell.

Then, he hears moving and there is something wet gliding across his lash line and he holds his breath as he guesses that it’s eyeliner. Minho takes his time in applying it and Jisung feels him shift even closer. 

“Open your eyes.” 

No, he doesn’t think he will.

But he does. 

There is less than a centimeter between their noses. Less than a centimeter separates him from Lee Minho. The latter doesn’t seem to notice anything, and Jisung holds his breath when he moves impossibly closer to brush the product under his eyes. 

He moves back after a few moments and Jisung can breathe again. The brush is bigger when it returns to his face and is coated in foundation, which means Minho doesn’t have to sit as close to apply it. Jisung swallows down as many gulps of air as he can pass off as normal, until his breathing has evened back out. If Minho suspects anything, he doesn’t show it.

A few minutes pass and Minho shifts closer again. This time, Jisung does not have control over his thoughts.

_It would be so wild if we kissed right now._ No. No.

Minho’s fingers lightly grip his chin and angle his head up, his other hand holding a mascara brush and focusing on his eyelashes. He’s too close again, barely leaving any space between their faces. Jisung’s stillness isn’t by choice, but Minho doesn’t know that.

Minho’s nonchalance wavers and his eyes briefly flick down to Jisung’s lips. Ah, so he _has_ noticed this whole time. Jisung’s subconsciously does the same, his brain on autopilot. 

“Lip gloss.” Minho says with a clear of his throat and leans away once again to grab the tube. Jisung isn’t sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed but he refuses to think too hard about it.

Minho gets the lip gloss done a lot faster than the rest of his makeup, just quickly swiping the tube over his bottom lip and a little on the top before capping it. He shifts back to the other end of the bed where they started and sorts through his items.

“Well go look, Jisungie.” Minho grins proudly, completely ignoring what had just happened. For both of their sakes, Jisung chooses to ignore it too and he shuffled to the bathroom to gaze in the mirror at himself.

Minho wasn’t kidding when he insisted makeup would complete the look. There is smokey grey around his eyes, silver glitter packed over the middle of his lid. Black and white eyeliners follow two parallel lines along his lash line and there’s red tint shimmering on his lips. Minho has really done a number on him.

He walks out to find Minho up against the pillows, makeup brushes back in his hand as he brushes peachy and blue hues over his eyes. Jisung sits and watches him work, fascinated with the way the brush glides over skin and leaving behind color. Minho has his done just as quickly and the party will be starting in fifteen minutes. 

“We don’t want to show up until at least 45 minutes after everything kicks off.” Minho reads Jisung’s mind. Jisung wouldn’t know, he usually doesn’t attend parties, and if he does it’s with Chan and Changbin, who never know when it starts. 

“What are we going to do for an hour then?” Jisung retorts and relaxes in Minho’s desk chair. Minho tsks at his impatience and packs his makeup supplies away. He turns on an episode of a popular kdrama and lets it run while he puts his things away. 

It’s a good drama, though Jisung doesn’t get extremely into it. It’s background noise for the next hour of teasing and intense games of 8-ball on their phones.

“You cheated!”

“How do you cheat in a game you can’t physically manipulate?”

An hour passes smoothly and Jisung’s instagram feed is already clogged with stories of people at the party. Just as it starts to get annoying, Minho stands up and grabs his keys.

“Figured I would drive since you crawled in through the window.” He says and heads for his bedroom door. Jisung is right behind him but Minho stops and puts a hand to his chest.

“You came in through the window, if you pass by my parents now, it’ll be awkward and really hard to explain.” He slips the keys into the pocket of his jacket that's slung over his arm. Jisung just looks at him, confused. 

“What do you want me to do, then?” 

“Go back through the window.” Minho says it like it’s the most obvious thing and shrugs when Jisung sputters. His grin is too cocky as he shuts the door in Jisung’s face and leaves him no other option. 

The climb down isn’t near as bad as the climb up was, but it’s no less irritating. He’s just doing his best not to let the sounds he makes be too similar to footsteps on a roof. Minho is waiting in the front lawn, laughing loudly as Jisung slides down the pipe on the side of the house and lands with an _oof._

“Why are you laughing, I’m doing this for you.” Jisung huffs, making sure not to step in front of any windows as he joins Minho on the grass. Minho just shakes his head and points to the driveway, where only his car sits parked.

“My parents aren’t home right now. Nobody is except for me.” 

Jisung instantly reaches out and slaps his shoulder with enough force to sting his palm. Minho just giggles more and walks towards the car.

“Has nobody been home this entire time?” 

“You showed up right after my step-brother and parents left, excellent timing by the way.” Minho climbs into the driver's seat before Jisung can pull him out. Jisung sulks as he climbs in on the passenger’s side. 

“You had me walking on your roof in broad daylight like a fucking idiot and for what?” 

“Entertainment. Also, my neighbors may have called the cops on you, but we’ll deal with that later.” 

“What?!”

The drive to Byungjun’s house is short. Jisung doesn’t question how Minho knows it without even being told the address, he just assumes he looked at it beforehand. The house is big, but not shockingly so. It’s a good size for a party. 

Minho parks down the road on the curb and Jisung follows him back down the sidewalk to the front entrance. He’s surprised to see Hyunjin and Felix, mostly Felix, hanging out in the front yard with a group of guys holding red solos. Then again, he really shouldn’t be. He already knows Felix isn’t as innocent as he appears to be, it makes sense that he would like to party as much as the next person.

Despite being surrounded by alcohol, he notices Felix doesn’t hold a cup of his own and doesn’t appear to be drunk either. Hyunjin is a different story, it’s barely nine and he’s already having trouble standing on his own two feet, but Jisung sees Felix’s arm supporting his weight. The guys around them are worse and Jisung will be surprised if they can make it back inside before hitting the ground.

Minho doesn’t spare anybody a glance as he makes his way to the front door, which stands wide open in invitation. The crowd they walk into takes notice of them, but the attention isn’t anything new. He knows what they’re all thinking, knows why their grip of their cups get tighter and their eyes get more narrowed.

_What is trouble doing here?_

Minho bypasses the crowd like he’s parting the Red Sea and Jisung trails behind and pretends not to notice the staring. The kitchen is overcrowded with people and seems to be the hot area of the night. There’s a couple making out on the kitchen counter, oblivious to the chaos erupting around them, and two or three people who have definitely already drank too much rummaging through the fridge. A few people hang around to talk, while others refill their drinks.

“Now what?” Jisung whispers against Minho’s ear when he’s sure nobody can hear him. Minho hums in acknowledgment and reaches back, securing Jisung’s wrist in his grip. He drags him out of the kitchen, making sure to pick up two solo cups on the way out and leads them to the dining room. 

Minho backs into a corner, hands a cup to Jisung and settles into the nook. Jisung begins to look around, trying to gauge the size of the crowd, but Minho uses a pointer finger to turn his face back towards him.

“Look at me.” He instructs, calmly and gently, “Do you want to be in the corner?” 

Jisung is quick to nod and they switch positions. He feels better with the wall against his back and being able to watch people around them. Having his back to crowds always made him anxious, it was good this way. Minho doesn’t seem to mind, he just downs the contents of the solo in seconds.

The party carries on around them, and Jisung almost forgets the entire reason they’ve come while he talks to Minho. That is, until he takes belated notice of the amount of stares that fall over their figures as their classmates pass. How Minho manages to stand there, calm and cool as if the stares weren't burning holes into his back, Jisung will never understand. 

“Time to play a game everyone!” A classmate of Jisung’s, a bubbly girl named Dahyun, announces to the dining room. She holds a single playing card in between her middle and pointer fingers, devilish smile on her face. Jisung sees Minho’s lip quirk and he’s suddenly on alert again. 

“Does the offer extend to us?” He asks, in his most condescending innocent tone. Dahyun meets his gaze and holds it for several seconds, as if showcasing her lack of fear. She needn’t be afraid, Minho won’t fight a girl unless she is murderous. 

“If you’re up for it, you can play. But be warned,” She grins, waving the card back and forth in front of his face in a sort of taunt, “you may not like the game.”

“I like most games.” Minho shrugs and gently peals Jisung’s back away from the wall. The room is forming into a large circle, the dim lighting making them all appear to be shadows. Jisung doesn’t remember when the lights were turned off.

“Alright, everyone.” Dahyun stands at one end of the circle, showing everyone the card, “You know the rules, it’s suck and blow.” 

Jisung’s stomach _drops_. 

Sure, he played this game one time in middle school during summer camp and ended up scolded by the camp counselors along with the rest of his friends for inappropriate behavior. However, that was nothing more than a joke in middle school, now things don’t seem to be so funny.

Minho slings an arm around his shoulder before the game even starts and Jisung doesn’t even think he _notices_ that he’s pulling him closer to his own body. He isn’t sure if it was intentional or not, but he ends up pressed against Minho’s side with his wrist hanging casually off his right shoulder. 

The card has already dropped three times before it even makes it around to them. Everytime it fails to pass, Dahyun starts the chain over, so it’s a never ending chain of close proximity and faces only inches apart. His heart is beating like a fucking kickdrum and he just hopes Minho can’t feel it.

He watches the card intently, waiting for somebody to fuck up and drop it. He waits silently, patiently, until the horrible realization sets in that the card is only two people away from Minho and _oh no._

Minho takes it from the person beside him with an ease that Jisung finds to be almost crazy. Then, he’s turning his head, all eyes on them. The card is resting against his lips, held there by a stream of air Minho is sucking in around the part and he waits patiently for Jisung to lean in and take it. 

He doesn’t, because he’s flush up against him and Minho is staring at him like that and the mere thought is driving him up the wall. So, instead, Minho leans in and that is somehow worse. 

Okay. Okay. It’s okay, all he has to do is suck lightly against the card and pass it along. As long as he focuses on the card, all is fine, all is good. This will be over so quickly, he won’t even blink.

Minho’s leaning closer, his nose brushing lightly against Jisung’s.

_The card. Focus on the card._

He gets closer and Jisung can feel the cold brush of the card against his bottom lip. It’s smooth and sends a shiver down his spine.

_The card._

The card is right against his lips, all he has to do is lean forward just enough to take it. Minho’s arm is still slung around his shoulder and he uses that to push Jisung that extra small but forward.

_Focus on the ca—_

Oh, fucking hell the card falls from Minho’s mouth.

But it is too late. He was already moving and Jisung was too, well his body was being moved, and there was no way to stop what happened next. 

Jisung expects a light and accidental peck. He knows it will absolutely make him flush red with embarrassment and he just hopes the dim lighting will cover it up. However, he does not get light nor accidental _nor_ a peck.

Instead, Minho’s lips are slotted into his and it’s not quick or a brush of their lips that could be passed off as accidental. Nope, Minho kisses him with purpose and every movement of his lips is slow. 

Jisung might go into cardiac arrest in a second. He can feel his heart in his wrist, beating against the skin and more than likely trying to jump out. When did he close his eyes? Are Minho’s eyes closed? It would be weird if they weren’t.

And oh, he isn’t breathing. His lungs are pulling inside his chest, desperate for air, but he’s frozen. Suffocation is an okay way to go, he assumes. 

Jisung has been kissed before, he’s not shocked by what it feels like. He is, however, absolutely stunned by execution and the _person_ no less. This isn’t happening, no way this is happening.

Minho pulls back, and he only hesitates a moment before leaning down and swiping the card from the floor by Jisung’s foot. The latter just stands there like a wide-eyed fool. Minho smirks and passes the card back down the line to Dahyun.

“Whoops,” He says, not sorry in the damn slightest, “looks like I dropped that one.” 

Dahyun is biting her lip as she takes the card back, barely containing her laughter. The girl next to her doesn’t do so well and she lets a few giggles escape her. The rest of the circle all laugh too.

That breaks Jisung out of his trance.

He doesn’t live in a town necessarily famous for its homophobia, the homophobes in his town are just very loud. He looks at the group surrounding them, made up of more girls than guys all brushing the interaction off. 

At the end of the circle is Sana, most likely having jumped in at the last second. And she’s holding hands with… a girl.

Why is he gasping? He should’ve known that.

Sana sends him a small, friendly wave and he moves like a robot to send her one back. Shock is still coursing through his veins and hurting his head, and the arm around his shoulders is doing nothing to assist that. Sana giggles and nudges the girl she’s holding hands with, a girl with model-like visuals and long, dark hair. Sana whispers something to her and the girl nods, sending Jisung a smile of her own. 

The card game starts again and this time, Minho doesn’t let it fall when they pass it. Jisung passes it to the person on his right as quickly as humanly possible and watches it go down the line until a girl five people from the end drops it. She giggles when her lips brush someone else’s and she passes the card back down with an embarrassed grin.

The chain starts again and Jisung is doing his literal best to pretend this is all fine. Every time Minho leans in, his instinctively pulls away, but the arm around his shoulder guides him back every time. He gets rid of the card within seconds.

The chain goes all the way this time and Dahyun lets out a loud cheer when Sana pulls the card from her lips. The arm around Jisung’s shoulder lifts to clap, and it feels like a weight has been relieved from his chest. But then the arm is back and Jisung is holding his breath again.

His mind is still wrapped around the kiss, trying to sort out any logical reasoning for such a move. It would’ve been a peck if he was just joking. He hadn’t been joking. Oh fuck.

“I don’t really want to play blackjack.” Minho whispers against his ear, breath rushing over the shell. It makes Jisung shiver and he retracts away immediately. Minho steers them in the direction of Sana and the girl she’s staring at.

“Sana.” Minho calls her name in greeting and the brunette spins around with a bright grin. She doesn’t hesitate to reach forward and wrap Minho in a hug, pulling Jisung into her arms only a second later.

“Minho! Jisung!” She exclaims happily, curling back under the arm of the girl next to her when she releases them, “How are you two? It’s been a minute.”

Minho chuckles and leans against the door frame to his left. The girl with her arm around Sana watches him closely, but not in a judgmental way. She must know of the rumors.

“I’ve been good, actually.” He sends a look Jisung’s way, “Same old, same old.”

Sana turns her gaze on Jisung and he can’t help the smile that blooms on his face when she looks at him so much excitedly. He’s never met someone so genuine.

“I’m well too.” He says, “How are you?”

“Good, good.” Sana says and wraps her arm around the girl’s waist. She pulls her forward, a loving look on her face as they meet eyes. “This is my girlfriend, Jeongyeon. Jeongyeon, this is the two boys who defended me against that sexist principal.”

Jeongyeon sticks out a hand, shaking both of them firmly and smiling. There’s a unique beauty about her, something alluring.

“Nice to meet you,” Jeongyeon laughs at Sana’s enthusiasm to get them to meet, “I’ve heard a lot about you two.”

“All good things from Sana, I hope.” Minho jokes and Jeongyeon chuckles when she picks up on the emphasis. 

“I don’t usually see you guys at these kind of parties,” Sana interjects, her voice sounds faded from the loud music, but they manage to pick up enough of the words, “I didn’t think I’d run into you here, especially since it's Byungjun’s.”

Minho makes a sound close to a _pfft,_ “It’s true we don’t like him, but a little party never hurt anybody. We’re just here to have fun.”

Sana gives a look like she knows that isn’t the full truth. She doesn’t say it, instead choosing to nod along. Jeongyeon is not as pliant and she has no hesitation about saying it.

“You’re crashing this party, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” Minho answers with an evil grin.

The girls chat with them a little longer before they move to the living room, a makeshift dance floor by now. Once more, Jisung ends up with his back to a corner and Minho in front of him, talking away about some bullshit lab assignment. Jisung can’t bring himself to talk about the kiss or Eunho’s weirdness, so he just nods along instead.

He will bring it up eventually. Eventually.

+++

One of the trickiest things about keeping private business well, private, was the discrepancy.

This is the sole reasoning why he is hesitant about Felix's meeting place. Hardly anyone will be walking around during lunch, but meeting by the lockers in the junior hall is still too risky to him. He goes anyway, only because he is tired of keeping up with this homework. Felix hands him the cash and the transaction is over like that.

Well, it should be anyway.

“I’m surprised you got it done.” Felix says. He folds the paper neatly and places it in his shoulder-bag. He hardly sends Jisung a glance as he comments.

“As long as you pay me, it’ll always be done. No reason that would be different.” 

Felix purses his lips. Doe eyes squint at Jisung, lips white around the edges from where they’re squeezed together. He analyzes Jisung in cold silence for a moment and then releases the pressure on his lips. Color floods back to them.

“Figured it might be a little delayed since you’re now wrapped up with your boyfriend.” 

It takes Jisung a solid minute of dumb staring to put the pieces together. Right. The party the other night wasn't a fever dream and Minho really kissed him in front of several of their classmates.

“Minho is not my boyfriend.” He passes it off with a scoff, a hand through his hair to emphasize his exasperation. Perhaps he has been doing business with Felix for much too long, because he is not convinced by Jisung’s casual attitude. 

“No? Then that thing at the party was just friendly? Guys being dudes?” Felix snickers at his own joke, not bothering to acknowledge Jisung’s offense. Of course he doesn’t, because at the end of the day, Lee Felix has never been particularly scared of him and Jisung can’t figure out why. He gave up on trying to.

“Shut up and take your homework.” 

Felix gives him a mock salute and a pat on the shoulder as he walks off, eyes straight forward and back straight as if he had just walked right past Jisung. Nobody was looking but perhaps that is why Felix is so good at hiding it, because he’s always prepared to be observed.

Jisung slips out of the hiding spot a minute or so later and heads toward the back of the courtyard where he knows Minho will be waiting for him.

+++

“Hey.” 

Minho doesn’t look up when he approaches, his eyes fixed on his phone. His leg is bouncing as he sits on the tabletop of a picnic table stuffed in the corner of the courtyard. 

“Hey, Jisung.” He mumbles in response and a few beats pass of him staring down at the device before he lets out a sigh, “If you get into any fights today, I won’t be of much help.” 

“I can handle myself fine,” Jisung throws himself onto the tabletop, his bag resting in his lap, “Why?”

He absentmindedly hands Minho a silver wrapper from the gum earlier today and he takes it without looking. Minho folds it into a little square like he usually does and slips it in his pocket.

“A friend is transferring today, somebody from my old school.”

“You have other friends?”

“Yes, asshole,” Minho grumbles without any malice, “I have the one other friend.”

Jisung snorts. 

“Why are they transferring here?”

He can’t think of any reason to transfer here. He would leave if he could, even if he’s been here a while himself. High school is terrible anywhere, but it’s ten times worse surrounded by homophobes.

“He…” Minho bites his lip in thought, “ran into a personal problem.”

Jisung takes that without question. 

“When does he arrive?”

Minho's phone goes off and he scrambles to look at the text displayed. He grins and grabs his bag, stuffing his phone in the side pockets. 

“Right now, apparently.”

The front of the school is not typically where Jisung finds himself, he only stops by on the rare occasion of there being a fight in full-swing. It is not an ideal location for the school’s well-known fist-thrower, being right in front of the office where anybody can spot him. It also is right in front of a set of six glass doors, not exactly great for the element of surprise.

Still, when Minho turns the corner and heads in that direction, Jisung follows with no more than a side-eye. A black car sits in the roundabout, still running. Minho makes a beeline for it.

The car is a lot nicer up close, it’s exterior shiny and clean without a spec of dirt. The windows are tinted, but rolled down just an inch from the top of all sides. A boy climbs out when Minho taps on the passenger’s window twice.

His face is all sharp angles, hollow cheeks and brown eyes that bore into them. His hair is black and parted to the left off his forehead, he’s clad in black jeans and a black button-up. He looks more like a CEO or a model than a high school boy.

“It took my dad nearly an hour and a half to find this place.” The kid speaks, his voice higher than Jisung expects it to be “Why did they build it in such a remote area?” 

“You’ll have to ask the principal that.” Minho responds with a short chuckle and reaches out to pull the kid in a quick side-hug, “Welcome to the new circle of Hell, Innie.”

“It’s the same as every circle.” He replies boredly, but he hugs Minho back with just as much fondness. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, the only indication that he’s joking.

“This is Jisung.” Minho gestures to him when he pulls away from the embrace. The boy fixes him with a strong gaze, intense and calculating. His head cocks to the side.

“This is the boy?” It doesn’t come out as judgmental, it’s purely questioning. Jisung detects a smirk growing on the corner of the boy’s lip and he doesn’t feel as intimidated as he originally had. 

“The what?” Jisung asks, but Minho doesn’t let him continue. He cuts him off with a loud clearing of the throat.

“Oh nothing, nothing.” The boy _is_ smirking now, more at Minho than at Jisung, “So, Jisung, how old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“And you’re in your eleventh year?”

“Yes.” Jisung answers, though the intensity of the stare he is fixed with makes him doubt himself for a second. The boy hums.

“So, you’re younger.” It isn’t a question when he mumbles it, “Interesting. Minho always tends to go for older guys, like this one in—“

“Don’t you have a meeting with the principal to get to, Jeongin?” Minho interrupts, the weight shifting between his feet as he stares the kid—Jeongin— down. He has the audacity to laugh at him.

“I do, thank you for reminding me.” He sends Jisung a side-eyed smile, “I’ll catch up with you later, Jisung. We have much to talk about.”

Jeongin practically floats through the doors, a blinding smile on his face as he reaches the front desk. Minho shakes his head after him, smiling proudly. 

“Jeongin seems nice.” Jisung says as they walk back around the building to avoid coming face to face with the principal. They’ve skipped one too many detentions to be considered “probable.”

“He’s something.” Minho grumbles, but it’s the fond look in his eyes that says something different, “He will probably be hanging out with us for a little while.”

“That’s cool,” Jisung really isn’t looking forward to the conversation that will happen when they’re alone anyway, “can he fight?”

“Not really.” Minho shoots him a look.

Jisung grins. 

“More for us then.”

+++

Friday night is lame as it usually was before Minho showed up.

The football game was cancelled and Jisung couldn’t say he was all that bummed about it, though he was sure the team was having the meltdown of a lifetime. He would usually go to the alley leading to the skatepark and add onto his collection of marks, but his paint cans are empty and he hasn’t had time to stock up. 

He sits silently in the quiet house that creaks and groans and Jisung swears it knows he is here alone. The TV is on in the background, turned down to barely audible so he can focus on his game. He traded his controller earlier tonight for a computer game. 

His phone goes off twice. One is a message from his mother, asking if he needs extra money since her flight got delayed a few hours and she wouldn’t be home until tomorrow evening. The second is from Minho and is much more simplistic.

_We’re going out. Be there in five._

Jisung really isn’t surprised. The game he’s playing is shut down and he’s changing into jeans and throwing on a jacket within seconds. As he walks to the junkyard, he sends his mom an answer to her question.

Minho is standing just inside the driver’s side door, arms folded on the roof of the car and staring at the path Jisung emerges from. He ducks in when he spots him and turns the key in the ignition before he’s even in the car yet.

“If you’re taking me to kick my ass again, I didn’t bring my fighting pants.” Jisung jokes, the car lunging forward before he even has time to fasten his seatbelt. Minho sends him a look from the corner of his eye.

“What kind of a fighter doesn’t bring his fighting pants? That’s your one job.” Minho scoffs, but he doesn’t drive in the direction of town. Instead, he turns back toward the school, and drives down a mostly deserted road.

“So, where are we going, Rocky?” Jisung reclines his seat, placing his hands behind his head just to be snarky. Minho rolls his eyes.

“For a bit of a late night drive, Bruce Lee.”

The night sky is littered with stars, like white dots on a dark blue canvas. He is amazed by how easily he can see something so far away, something so untouchable by his human hands. He could travel for eternity without ever reaching a star.

Jisung looks at the stars, because there isn’t much else to look at. Minho drives down a dirt road, encased by trees and an extending wood that seems to stretch on for miles. The radio is playing on low volume, not that Jisung can make out any words being sung.

For the most part it’s quiet, save for the rush of wind past his ears as he rests his chin on his folded arms at the open window. There is definitely no way Minho is going the speed limit, but Jisung can’t find it in himself to care about that. There is nobody around, nobody to see or hear anything they do or say.

“Sorry if I pulled you out of anything.” Minho says softly, his voice barely audible enough for Jisung to hear, “I just had to get out of there.”

Jisung turns his head, his cold cheek pressing into warm hands. He can’t see Minho from this angle, but he can see his subtle reflection in the windshield. His eyebrows are knitted together and bottom lip bitten by his teeth.

“Out of where?” He inquires and waits for Minho to show any sign of discomfort with the question. He doesn’t, just lets out a long sigh. His fingers dance across the steering wheel as his teeth bite harder into the skin.

“My house.” He answers, just as quiet as the first time. Jisung decides not to push. If Minho is upset by it, then he won’t make him think any more about it.

“You didn’t pull me out of anything,” He puts Minho’s mind at ease by answering his question, “my mom won’t be home until tomorrow evening, I had nothing going on.”

The road gives way to a fork, the right path going to a dead end. Neither are sure where the left path leads, but Minho takes it without a single thought. He continues on, never stopping to worry or think about the road not taken.

“How long before her next trip?” Minho keeps his gaze steady on the road, only pausing once to glance in Jisung’s direction. The younger sighs and buries his cheek further into the comforting warmth of his own hands.

Something feels different about tonight, about their conversations. It feels a little more personal, like the usual awareness of prying eyes and ears no longer exists and the world has turned its back long enough to allow two friends to be alone. It feels like this because for the moment, it really is just them.

“A week at most.” He remembers to reply, and just because he knows it is only Minho who will hear, he continues, “Sometimes she’s gone so long that it’s surprising to wake up to her being in the house again. It’s almost like seeing a ghost wander around your home.”

“Does she never take jobs she can complete here?” Minho phrases it tentatively, trying hard not to strike a nerve. Jisung appreciates the effort, but he’s almost positive his nerves cannot be striked by the topic anymore. He has long grown accustomed to his mother’s absence, to his responsibility of being alone all the time.

“She says they don’t pay as well. I can't get a job because my school would never recommend me, so she’s the sole income of our house.” He can hear the evenness of his voice, satisfied that his effort to sound nonchalant about it paid off. He couldn’t afford to open the can of worms that was his family.

“And your dad?” Minho asks, yet again careful. 

“What about him?” Jisung spats bitterly and he catches Minho tense. Another sigh ripples through his body, but he doesn’t bother to explain further. Some doors should stay closed, and he doesn’t intend on opening it back up.

“Sorry, my mistake.” Minho mutters and begins to change the subject. He reaches for the volume dial, presumably to turn the radio up louder and swallow the awkward silence.

“It’s not your fault.” Jisung says before he can drown out the conversation, “He’s just not worth talking about.”

“Don’t worry, I get it.” Minho reassures and he only turns the dial up a few notches before he retracts his hand. It’s just loud enough to make out the words, but not near loud enough to disrupt them. Jisung can only grin in appreciation.

“Jeongin seems nice.” Jisung decides to shift the topic, and he watches the fond smile bloom onto Minho’s face. A look passes through his eyes, one stemming from fondness as well. 

“He is. I’ve known him forever.” The road gives way to a deserted highway and Minho merges right on without stopping or putting on the breaks. There’s no one else besides them anyway.

“Childhood friends?” 

The sky meets the road in the distance, the dark blue and gray melting into one another in a line. The faint green of the trees outline the scene and Jisung thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. 

“Kind of. We’re second-cousins.” Minho smiles a little at the word, but his smile fades just as quickly, “I don’t see that side of the family much though, school is the only way we really get to know each other.” 

“That’s why you want to protect him here.” Jisung isn’t asking, though he knows it’s phrased like an inquiry, “You protected him at your old school too, didn’t you?”

Minho is silent for a minute and Jisung believes briefly that he may have overstepped. He traces his thoughts back, tries to find where the offense could be taken. Just before he’s found it, Minho clears his throat.

“I didn’t leave my old school voluntarily.” He says and he doesn’t sound sad, just carefully choosing his words, “I was into fighting, like I am now. I got in a fight one day that just went too far. The school said their hands were tied and they had to expel me.” 

“So your parents moved here?” Jisung tries and Minho nods a yes. The younger hums, fiddling with his fingers and trying not to ask too much. Minho should tell him on his own, not because Jisung is nosy.

“I hated leaving Jeongin behind, I knew without me there to protect him, somebody would end up hurting him.” He shakes his head, eyes floating down to his hands gripping the steering wheel, “And that's just what happened. Now he’s here.” 

“You said before that he doesn’t _really_ fight,” Jisung shifts in his seat, “does that mean he’s fought before?”

“Only once.” Minho says through gritted teeth and Jisung is prepared to leave it alone entirely, but Minho says, “It was during the fight that I was expelled for. Jeongin jumped in to help me when things seemed hopeless for me. He protected me in the way I had protected him.”

“That was really brave,” Jisung says, “that’s something you two have in common.” 

“What, bravery?” Minho glances over at him in question and Jisung nods.

“Yeah. You’ve always been prepared to jump headfirst into fights for me, that’s bravery. Not all of us have such an amazing trait, you should own it.” Jisung turns around, placing the back of his head in his folded hands. He’s facing Minho now, who’s focused on driving.

“You have it too.” Minho doesn’t take his eyes off the road, “When you stopped Byungjun from stabbing me, that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” 

The memory almost makes Jisung sick to his stomach. The thought plagued him from time to time, the thought of if he hadn’t seen it, hadn’t been fast enough. He doesn’t like to think such thoughts, so he tries not to think about the incident at all.

“Guess we’re both special, then.”

Minho chuckles and offers him a piece of gum, which Jisung takes gladly between his two fingers. They ride in silence for the rest of the drive, a silent bond built over a quiet radio, burning white stars, and silver gum wrappers.

+++

According to Jisung’s mother, it is absolutely essential he spend at least one full day in his classes in order to make some compensation for his grades. His teachers know of him by now, know what he’s like through the school year. Some report him for skipping, others don’t even take attendance and mark him as present. 

He is still surprised to sit down in his History classroom and find his seat next to Eunho, the one person whose words have eaten away at him for days now. Eunho grins when Jisung sits next to him, friendly and encouraging, two things Eunho is not.

“Have you talked to him?” Eunho whispers, disguising their conversation as him putting away his pencil case. Jisung shoots him a look that could kill. 

“Why is it any of your business?” 

Eunho rolls his eyes, doing a quick search of the room. When he determines nobody has seen them, he looks Jisung in the face, eyebrow raised. Jisung stares back, completely unwilling to be having this conversation.

“Homecoming is on Friday. There’s a dance on Saturday.” 

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he’s implying.

“I’m not going.”

“Why not?”

“I have a reputation, Eunho.” Jisung spins back around in his seat, watches the board with disinterest. It’s a clear hint to leave him alone, he can only hope Eunho is receptive.

Eunho scoffs. “If you were half as bad as your reputation is, you would’ve choke-slammed me through this floor as soon as I spoke to you.” 

“I’m still mulling it over.”

“Look,” Eunho abandons his plan of discrepancy and leans over the bar on his desk, “just bring it up to him and let him give you some lame excuse that will definitely be a yes. That's all I’m saying.” 

Luckily, everybody else is focused on the assignment they talked through, and nobody even takes notice to the odd pairing in the back. Jisung glares at the younger, and isn’t surprised to find him grinning back. He’s almost excited.

“Are you forgetting the reason we beat you up in the first place, Eunho?” Jisung snaps, his voice still a whisper despite the harsh words, “Why are you trying to help me now? If this is a sick ploy, Minho really will drown you in the toilet this time.”

For the first time, Eunho looks sheepish. His eyes divert away from Jisung and his hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck. His throat clears.

“I get it. My comments last year were totally inappropriate and offensive and I’m really sorry. You don’t have to forgive me for them, but I want you to know I’m not like that anymore.” Eunho finally makes eye contact with Jisung again, “I didn’t even understand half of what I was saying last year, I was just doing it to look cool for my friends. I distanced myself from those people over the summer and I really hope I can make it up to you.”

“If that were true, then why did Minho pick you out?” 

“Ah, that.” He sends him a half-smile, like a plea to keep his anger in check, “He overheard a buddy of mine make an ill-placed comment about… you. He demanded to know which of us had said it and I…”

“You took the fall for your friend? Knowing it would get you beaten to a pulp?” Jisung almost can't believe what he’s hearing, he wouldn’t believe it if Eunho didn’t look so sincere. The sophomore nods.

“He’s dealing with his own _issues,_ if you get me. I’m trying to help him as best as I can.”

Ah. Jisung has been there. Of course, that happened back in middle school and he was never so bold to say anything like that so outwardly, but he also didn’t have friends like Eunho or friends like Jaejoong. Eunho’s friend was in a tight spot.

“So, is this your way of paying reparations?” Jisung raises an eyebrow, “Trying to set me up with my friend?”

Eunho grins again.

“Playing cupid has proven to be rather fun.” 

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

“So, you’re going to ask him.”

“Shut up, Eunho.”

+++

It’s not exactly easy to bring up the prospect of a school dance to the friend you jump other people with. Jisung’s been trying to figure out how to bring it up all day, but every time, it’s just not the right time.

First, there was lunch and Jisung hadn’t been in so long that he forgot he didn’t usually sit with Minho before. The older doesn’t mind when he sits across from him, tray over spilling and struggling to keep the apple he picked up from rolling off. He doesn’t say anything either, and it takes Jisung around three minutes to figure out that the silence around them is not in his head and that the rest of the cafeteria is subtly watching them.

Then, there was the hallway. After lunch, people were less shocked to see them together, though still wary of their presence. Jisung himself can’t see the reason for their shock. Minho being with him is a regular occurrence these days, a new normal for the loner and the school’s well-known asshole. But still, it’s the noise this time that stops him from asking, because Minho doesn’t like to talk where luring ears can listen. 

Finally, there was after school ended. Jisung thought it would be the perfect time to bring it up, they could go to the junkyard or terrorize the town with their presence and he could ask then. But when Minho came rushing out of the school, throwing a quick apology over his shoulder as he all but sprinted to his car, Jisung knew it wasn’t the right time then either.

The text waiting for him on his phone when he pulled into his driveway was explanation enough for Minho’s odd behavior. 

_M: Sorry for rushing out like that._

_M: My moon texted me during the last period and needed me to help her with something._

_J: It’s fine, all good._

_M: I’ll call you later_.

Jisung isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about that or why there’s an unnamed feeling rising in his chest. He tucks this feeling away to acknowledge another time and focuses on the thing he _is_ sure about. This call will be the right time to ask and he can finally tell Eunho he was wrong.

An hour passes where he tries not to stare at his phone. For a moment, he’s able to distract himself with the new additions to his favorite gaming website, but they can only hold his attention for so long. He tries to make his bed, get a snack, conduct an experiment between a light bulb and a potato. None of it works.

He is put out of his misery when his phone chimes and he nearly breaks his ankles to rip it from the charger and press it to his ear. The high pitched ringing continues and he realizes he forgot to actually answer the call. The phone beeps when he hits accept and he raises it back to his ear.

“Sorry, she talks forever.” Minho’s voice comes through the phone, muffled and exhausted. He doesn’t sound upset though, and that makes Jisung feel a little bit better.

“It’s cool, I didn’t have anything to do anyways.” He opts for sitting in the desk chair and spinning around, sometimes tucking his legs in to avoid hitting the desk and disrupting the spin. He hears Minho’s laugh come through.

“So, you were waiting by the phone for my call?” 

“What?! No!” Jisung sputters and nearly chokes on his own saliva, “That’s absurd.”

Minho laughs harder and louder on the other end, the kind of laugh that’s high in pitch and shakes his whole body. It’s the uncontrollable kind and Jisung rarely sees it, but he can’t help but watch the older when he does.

“I was just joking,” Minho giggles and the sound of rustling means he’s shifting around, “but you were really waiting for it, huh? That’s cute.”

“It most certainly is not, because that is not what happened.” He’s so glad Minho can’t see him right now, his cheeks are flaming red and hot. Fucking Lee Minho calling him cute unprompted. His convincing does nothing for Minho, whose giggles become more frequent. 

“If that’ll help you sleep tonight, then sure.” 

“I don’t sleep.” Jisung bites back but the lack of malice in his tone sells him out. Minho has the audacity to continue giggling at his dismay, and he just sits back and lets him because the sound is so pretty. 

“ _Talking to your boyfriend_ ?” A new voice, not unfamiliar, picks up and Jisung tenses in his seat. His foot hits the floor and stops his spinning as he listens to Minho scoff. There’s more shuffling and then a loud _thud_ followed by a door slamming. 

“Sorry, that was my stupid ass step-brother.” Minho mumbles into the speaker, but Jisung can hear the thinly veiled anger boiling under his faked calm. The voice bangs around in his head for a few seconds, leaving him unable to respond until Minho says his name.

“Oh, yeah, it’s no problem.” Jisung replies, his mouth moving before his brain has really caught up, “That voice sounded kind of—“

“Anyways, I don’t think I can hang out tonight.” Minho interrupts, voice level and devoid of that powerful fury, “I know we usually go by the junkyard, but I don’t think I can sneak out tonight.”

“First of all, that is totally fine and you know I don’t mind,” The words are finally back in his grasp as he speaks, a sudden want to reassure Minho that it really is fine, “Second of all, you’ve been sneaking out this whole time? To come play bullshit and still _lose_?”

Minho huffs a laugh.

“I don’t lose at bullshit, you just cheat.” He’s raising his eyebrow in a challenge on the other end of the line, Jisung just knows he is, “Also, that’s kind of why I can’t come tonight. My family finally caught on that I’m sneaking out after I get home and I’m not at the gym after school everyday.”

“Why would you tell them you were at the gym? You didn’t even like the gym.” 

“Had to make up something when I got called on it. Couldn't blame it on the dojo, my mom would’ve called and Shownu can’t lie to save his own life.” 

The conversation with Eunho reappears in his brain and he lets out a deep, heavy sigh. He told him he would ask, indirectly but he still somewhat agreed. He knows Eunho will clown him for days if he doesn’t say something and even though he’s not as bad as he used to be, Eunho is still nobody to be clowning Jisung.

“You think they’ll let you out of the house any time soon?” It’s the only way he can think to link the conversations together. Apparently, he does a pretty good job, judging by Minho’s hum.

“Probably. Once she gets over the “shocking betrayal” of it all, she won’t care.” He chuckles to himself when he imitates his own mother, “Why? Do you miss me that much already?”

“No,” Jisung can’t help but roll his eyes, even if Minho can’t see it or him, “I was just checking how long my peace and quiet is going to last.”

“Unfortunately for you, it won’t be very long.” 

Jisung hesitates. What if Minho takes it in the wrong way and finds it weird? His mind wanders back briefly to the party and he has to stop that train of thought before it goes too far. Getting your hopes up always leads to disappointment, and Jisung will not allow himself to be disappointed like this.

“Such a shame.” He retorts back when his thoughts are under control, “Since you nor the school want to offer me peace of mind, what are you doing on Saturday night?” 

“Oh, you know my schedule is always cleared for you.” The teasing lift of his voice is very obvious, but Jisung’s chest still recognizes the feeling bubbling up. It’s harder to choke back this time. 

“It’s homecoming. Well, the dance anyway. Homecoming is actually Friday.” He starts to spin again to distract himself. Maybe he can get really dizzy and lose his memory of this entire conversation. That can happen, right? 

“Not that I’m opposed, but since when have you been interested in the homecoming dance?” 

He chews nervously on his nails, a habit he hasn’t done since seventh grade. He’s still spinning, but it’s not fast enough to knock him out. Minho’s still on the other end of the line, awaiting an answer.

“Since I overheard Byungjun bragging about how great a night it was going to be.” The lie is quick and petty, but he can’t say he feels all that bad about it, considering the alternative. He couldn’t exactly say “Eunho keeps encouraging me to make a move on you and even though I am not too sure what is going on between us, I'm going to listen to him”.” Well he could, but he would sound insane.

“So, you want to ruin Byungjun’s night again?” Minho laughs, “And here I was, thinking you were asking me on a date.” 

Jisung groans without meaning to, but the delighted laugh he pulls from Minho is worth the subtle embarrassment. 

“I’m going to hang up now.” 

“Okay, Jisungie. I’ll see you for our date, bye!” 

The phone clicks shut before Jisung can respond.

+++

Jisung is fully convinced Minho wants him to drop dead. 

There is several pieces of evidence backing this theory, but the most promising is his behavior this past week. It started off as little smirks across the room here and there, picking Jisung up from class and walking him to his next one despite being late for his own. It started innocent, but boy does Minho know how to escalate.

He stuck to Jisung’s side like glue the very next day, leaning over at random times to whisper something to him. Most of the time, it was something he definitely could’ve said normally, like “can you hand me that pencil” or “grab a tissue” or something equally as mundane. It was the constant arm around his shoulders, the wiping of blood off his bottom lip after he’d gotten punched by some freshmen who had it in for him.

It only gets worse every day, and by Friday, Minho hasn't let Jisung spend a single waking hour alone. It feels like a build-up to something, something Jisung is entirely out of the loop of. Chan and Changbin have teased him ruthlessly throughout the week, only managing to do so because they joined Minho’s table too.

They walk through the halls after lunch, heading back to their respective classrooms. Changbin ducks away first to the biology hall, and Chan splits off with Bambam somewhere along the way. Jisung doesn’t really pay attention to them, not when Minho’s arm is wrapped around his back as they walk side by side and he doesn’t seem to want to move it any time soon.

Jisung doesn’t dare ask what’s going on with him, too afraid to even dare open that conversation. The looks he keeps getting from Eunho and Chan don't help, but he ignores them to the best of his ability. They reach the end of the hall, and Jisung knows Minho’s class is the opposite way they turn, down the hallway headed to Jisung’s. 

“You don’t have English this period, Minho.” He knows it’s useless, but he still tries anyway. Minho just hums and feigns shock.

“I don’t? Man, I've been going to the wrong class this whole time.” He digs a piece of gum out of his pocket, folds the wrapper and chews on the stick. Jisung notices the wrapper is blue this time.

“You should go to class before they send you to Principal Kwan, dumbass.” Jisung shrugs Minho's arm off of him, sending a stern look his way as he steals a piece of gum from his pocket. Minho folds his wrapper and puts it in his pocket alongside his own. 

“Whatever you say, Jisungie.”

Jisung isn’t sure what to do when Minho leans in, he’s frozen solid in his spot as his face gets closer and closer. This isn’t a totally unfamiliar sight, he’s seen it once before and the feeling in his chest is so intense he doesn’t know what to do. Minho doesn’t go for his lips though, instead, he kisses his cheek and leaves behind a wet spot where he does.

He skips off to his next class without another word and Jisung damn near malfunctions in the middle of the hallway.

+++

They all skip the game in favor of preparing for the dance. Jisung belatedly realizes he doesn’t have anything to wear to a formal event and in the midst of his panic when his thoughts are interrupted by a loud knocking on his door. 

It’s his mother, bags in her hands and two trailing after her. She holds out a cup of iced coffee to him and he takes it without question while she drops her bags off in her room.

“Why are you pacing around?” She asks when she returns, her bracelets clanking together as she wrings her wrists together. He sips at the coffee and looks up at her rather shyly.

“Sorry, I can’t find anything to wear.” 

She looks surprised by his answer. A thin eyebrow raises and regards him in a manner that is only slightly judgmental. 

“Where are you going that your usual attire doesn’t fit the dress code?” Her eyes dart past him to the remnants of his closet scattered around his floor. It's all leather and ripped jeans and black t-shirts.

“Homecoming dance.” He answers shortly. Her eyebrows meet her hairline now, eyes dropping their usual guard for a moment. The information registers and she lets out a quiet hum. 

“You need formal clothes, then?” At his nod, she takes off down the hallway, toward her own room, “I may have something.”

+++

“Something” is buried in the back of his mom's closet, far beneath the handbags she no longer used and the blouses she long retired. Dressing nice isn’t exactly in her job credentials as an editor, but she never once did she dress anything other than classy. In his seventeen years of life, he can’t recall a single instance where he’d ever seen her in relaxed clothing.

She spends a while tucked in the burrows of her closet, shoveling at shoes that went out of fashion and a dozen pieces of jewelry she hates. Jisung knows when she spots what she’s been looking for by the “aha!” that escapes her mouth. She emerges a second later with a crushed velvet red suit in a garment bag. 

Jisung eyes the suit curiously, the sight familiar and yet different. His memories fly forward, every single one raking through to find a match. He does.

“But this is—“

“Yes, it is.” She cuts him off, setting a pair of black shoes at the foot of the bed, “I have no use for it anymore.”

It’s his father’s. The expensive suit in front of him belonged to his father, worn only once to the honeymoon trip he took with Jisung’s mother. It’s the only thing he left behind, besides them. 

“Are you sure?” He watches for any sign of doubt or pain in his mother’s expression. It’s a useless search, the wall she keeps up has years of experience beyond what Jisung can see through. 

“I wouldn’t be offering it if I wasn’t.” The suit falls in his outstretched hands, the garment bag is cold against his hands. His mother ushers him to the bathroom and requests he change, rattling off the names of tailors she knows who can have it altered by tomorrow. Jisung doesn’t doubt her connections for a moment.

He hates it. The suit itself is gorgeous and it looks amazing when he fastens the last golden button. It fits him well, and he hates that. He hates it because it probably fit his father well too, it probably looked amazing on him and he despises any connection to his father besides the DNA he can’t change.

“Jisung?” A knock at the door and his mother’s voice sounds, “Does it fit alright? Should I call Dongmin?”

“No,” His own voice startles him, an unfamiliar emotion dripping from the single word, “It’s…” 

“Are you decent? May I come in?” 

He doesn’t have it in him to say no, to rip the thing off and tell her it was too tight and they can buy one tomorrow last minute. He doesn’t have it in him to reject the image before him, an image not of himself, but of his father. He never realized how much they look alike.

His mother comes in at his confirmation and just hums approvingly at the way it hugs the right areas. Hands reach up to fix the collar a bit and he lets them without protest. His mother is not stupid and she knows he is upset, she knows why.

“You know, when I was younger, I failed every unit in biology except genetics and DNA.” She moves in front of him, short stature doing little to obstruct his view of himself, but her presence commanding all the same. It forces his eyes away from his father’s reflection.

“Genetics and DNA both are a unique combination of letters that make up your traits. There’s dominant and recessive traits, most people have at least one dominant trait, but what I always found fascinating was the way offspring were always somehow their own. They have their parents’ traits but the traits are also theirs.” She grabs his face in her hands, and though he is already looking at her, she holds him steady, “You may have parts of another in you, but they can never be you. Your DNA will never look exactly like theirs, nor will yours ever look like another’s. You are you, and they are them.”

She releases his face, a slim finger hooking under it as she pushes his head back to his reflection. He isn’t his father, he will never be. A weight all but falls from his shoulders and even though it is one he placed there himself, it never felt better.

“Thank you, mom.” He whispers, staring at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t look like his father, he looks like himself.

“I always thought you made a good choice, my eyes suit you much better.” 

He huffs a laugh and she smoothes the creases in his sides with careful hands. They rest on his shoulder when she’s done and his own eyes gaze up at him. 

“Now, I’m thinking gold and silver jewelry mixed together would tie this together. Let’s see what I can do.”

+++

“Should I walk you to the door afterwards so we can part ways like the silly, awkward teens we are?” 

Minho chats in his ear as Jisung runs around his home, slipping on the “finishing touches” as his mother had proclaimed. There is so much jewelry he can’t keep track, bracelets and rings all looking the very same when he gazes inside the wooden box she had pulled them from the night before. He just hopes he picks the right ones.

“If you get within twenty feet of my house, my mother will pull you inside by your ankles.” Jisung retorts, cell phone held between his ear and shoulder while he clips in an earring. Minho laughs on the other end.

“Good thing I parked in front of the neighbor’s house then.” 

Jisung scoffs, chunky black shoes shaking each stair he rushes down. Minho is early, already waiting for him outside when he texted and Jisung was just tying his shoelaces. His mother is in the kitchen, pretending to have very little interest in what he’s doing, but he knows she’s hanging on to every word she can. 

He waves to her by the front door and she waits only two seconds after he’s opened it to drop whatever she’s feigning interest in and rush over. Minho is still on the other end of the line, leaning against the hood of his car. The color of his suit is hard to pick out in the darkness, somewhere between black and blue. His hair is pushed back and off his forehead, a black dress shirt underneath the buttoned blazer, black handkerchief folded in the breast pocket. 

“That’s nineteen feet.” Jisung says into the phone and from across the lawn, he can still catch that grin. Minho looks over at him, regards him slyly as he steps back onto the curb. 

“It’s about to zero.” The phone clicks off and he shoves it in his pocket. Black shoes make quick work of eliminating the space between them, and Minho is suddenly in front of him.

His eyelids are painted with shimming blacks and silvers, a line of blue under his eyes. Up close, the suit is navy blue and slick. Harsh streetlamps hardly do it justice, but the shining boy it adorns does. Out of nowhere, a white rose pops up between them. 

“You sure dressed real fancy for a non-date.” Minho smirks, the rose stem twirling between his fingers. His mother is still in the doorway, so Jisung can’t reply the way he wants to, but he can roll his eyes.

“You thought I was going to let you upstage me? In your dreams, Lee.” 

“Oh, I’m living my dreams right now.” Minho’s voice is smug, his eyes racking over Jisung’s frame in a way that borders the line between playful and serious. Minho walks that line far too often for Jisung’s personal liking. 

Eyes roll and Minho’s smirk widens. Just like the little shit he is, the older makes a point to wave behind Jisung’s head, to his mom. Jisung knows she’s waving back without having to turn around. 

“Come on,” He says and reaches out to gently tug on Minho’s shoulder. The white rose is thrusted into his hands as he pulls them along to Minho’s car. It’s fresh, more than likely picked up on the way over. 

Minho giggles the whole way there, whether it be from Jisung’s reaction or his hurried steps to separate his mother and Minho is unknown. He offers very little resistance to being thrown in the driver's seat, Jisung flinging himself over the hood to scramble in the passenger’s seat a second later. 

“Your mom is nice. You definitely got your looks from her.”

“Shut the hell up and drive.” 

They let the radio fill the silence, an occasional chirp from the GPS cutting in as they drove down winding roads. The dance is supposed to be off-campus, tucked away in the back woods in what used to be a barn, now turned into a popular location for country weddings and school dances apparently. He isn’t sure how such a place is supposed to fit all of them, but it isn’t like they take tickets at the door.

The scenery is nothing he hasn’t seen before, trees and a never-ending stretch of asphalt, so his eyes find themselves on the one thing he never gets tired of seeing. Minho’s face reminds him of their late night drive, when they got in the car and just drove without destination. The peace and serenity of that night a memory burned in his mind. 

He’s fought for months to keep his thoughts at bay, to conceal the dangerous ones and ignore the impulsive ones. It gets harder by the day and he’s only so good at pretending. 

The truth is, he isn’t afraid. It isn’t fear that has him pushing down and pushing away every time that feeling in his chest moves too close to his throat, it isn’t fear that has his feelings clogged in his throat as he chokes on words he won’t let reach his tongue. It’s hesitance. 

He knows what could be, what would be if he only let it. He doesn’t retain such fear of rejection or mockery, as most his age do. He hesitates to let anything be what it is, because he knows the truth of the matter.

And the truth is, Minho will leave for college. He won’t stay in this town, he doesn’t belong here. Minho will go to college and college boys don’t keep the people they knew in high school. It’s not fear, or even sadness, that keeps him from letting it be. It is realism and the reality of what will happen. 

It will hurt. And there is no need to cause unnecessary pain to himself or to Minho. 

It doesn’t matter what he wants now, what he won’t let himself want, because he knows he will only wish he never did in the end of things. All good things must come to an end, and Jisung prefers the end that won’t leave a bruise on his heart and a stain on his skin. 

“Your thoughts are _loud._ ” Minho says, a bit of a chuckle seeping through his words. For a moment, Jisung has the absurd thought that maybe a few of those words have escaped his mouth. How embarrassing would that be.

“Did I say something?” He asks, tries to pass it off as unbothered. He isn’t ready to have the conversation that follows if he has. Minho sends him a curious look.

“Hmm?” He barely turns his head, “No. You were just very deep in your head. What’s going on in there anyways?” 

_You. Us._ Two things he doesn’t dare say aloud. Instead, he takes a risk somewhat equal.

“Just contemplating.” He whispers, eyes floating to the windshield where he can watch Minho without looking at him. 

“Contemplating what exactly?” Minho asks.

“Risks.” Jisung let’s the word escape his lips, loud and clear in a car of silence. The radio quit at some point, the GPS quieter. “Is it better to take a risk and possibly regret it or better to leave things as they are?”

Jisung isn’t sure why he expects Minho to laugh at him, or at least be shocked by the question. He isn’t and he doesn’t laugh or grin at all, he simply lets the thought sink in and bites at his bottom lip. 

“Why would you regret what you did? I think the reason is important.” He replies.

“You regret it because it only ended up hurting.”

“Hmm. In that case, was the eventual pain worth it? Sometimes, it does hurt and we regret that it hurt in the end, but we don’t regret what we did. If it wasn’t worth it, if you wouldn’t do it again, then I say leave it. But if you know there is pain at the end, or you think there is, and you still want to do it, then it’s best to take the risk.” 

“What would you do?” Jisung’s voice is soft when it comes out, as if his words were strong enough to break through what little bubble they've created.

“I’ve always been more of a risk-taker myself,” Minho smiles and for the first time, he faces Jisung, “I would take the chance.”

Maybe he is right. Maybe the fall is worth the feeling of his back breaking water. And whether he sinks or swims, in the end, he wouldn’t regret the fall, but he knows he would regret never jumping. 

Minho drives up a rocky hill leading up a mountain and Jisung sees the signs for the barn before he sees the structure itself. The gravel outside serves as a parking lot, and there are already people spilling out of the doors. The conversation rests heavy on his mind, but he lets his thoughts run their course when Minho opens his door for him and offers his hand in dramatic fashion.

Jisung lets his heart beat, his chest fill with the unknown feeling that boils away in him, he lets his cheeks warm at the feeling of their hands intertwined. He lets it be.

The music inside is nearly deafening, he can't hear anything besides pulsing bass from the speakers. A DJ is at the front of the room, near the other entrance to the back of the barn where kids filter in and out. Bodies are everywhere, some already half naked and grinding despite the night being so early and a suspicious looking punch bowl on the refreshments table has definitely been spiked by this point. 

Minho’s hand stays clasped in his as they move further into the room, the music only getting louder as they do so. It’s almost unbearable when Minho leans in, his breath hot against Jisung’s ear. 

“I’m not up for contracting a disease tonight, so I’m going to stay out of that,” He gestures to the crowd of sweaty and shirtless teenagers, “for the time being. You want to grab a table?”

“Preferably one in the back.” Jisung says and Minho’s giggle barely reaches him before the bass takes back over. He’s dragged to the back of the room, where an open table is tucked into the corner. They sit at the two farthest seats from the DJ, where the noise is tolerable.

“I don’t think my ears have ever rang this much.” Jisung comments, tugging on the lobe of his ear. Minho just smiles and cups his hands over Jisung’s ears. His mouth moves, but Jisung can’t make out a word he’s saying.

“What?” He shouts and Minho is laughing again before removing his hands and leaning in. 

“I said, was that better?” 

Jisung sits and stares at him like an idiot for a few long moments. It takes several blinks for him to sort through his thoughts enough to respond.

“Not really!” 

Movement in the corner of his eye has him glancing up in time to see Chan coming toward them, Bambam in tow. They’re both smiling and Chan sits in the seat on the other side of Jisung. 

“I didn’t think you’d come.” He takes a sip of his water bottle, probably grabbed from the cooler in the other corner. Bambam sits to Chan’s right. 

“I didn’t think so either.” Jisung responds and shoots a glance at Minho. The older man offers a tight-lipped smile and slings his arm around Jisung’s shoulders. 

“Have you seen Changbin? I’m supposed to be meeting the person he’s been hiding from us for months.” 

“Changbin’s been hiding someone?” This was news to Jisung. Chan chuckles and leans back into Bambam with a nod. 

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t find out until two weeks ago and he made me swear not to speak a word of it. He’s been sneaking around with them for months now, all suspicious and secretive.” Chan shakes his head, eyes scanning the crowd. Jisung knows he’s found something when he perks up and cranes his neck for a better view.

“Holy shit.” 

“What is it?” Jisung tries to look past Chan, to see if he can spot anything or anyone unusual. He catches nothing off the bat.

But then, Changbin is walking toward them and he looks amazing but sheepish. There’s someone behind him, someone he’s dragging along. His date shuffles out from his back when they get closer to the table and that’s when it clicks. 

He’s holding hands. With a boy. Not just any boy, he’s holding hands with Kim Seungmin.

“Holy shit.” Jisung repeats and then immediately lets out a groan following, “Seriously? Another one of you going after your polar opposite? Am I the only one here who likes bad boys?” 

It slips out so casually that he doesn’t even notice it. Chan doesn’t know he’s gay. Or well, he’s never told Chan he’s gay. 

Nobody seems affected by the comment, other than the context of it. Chan raises an eyebrow at him, smirking as he shoots a glance to Minho. Changbin just scoffs and rolls his eyes.

His trance doesn’t break until Minho leans close once again and whispers right into his ear, “You’re not the only one.”

“ _Anyways,”_ Changbin interrupts, followed by a gag noise, “this is Seungmin. We’re dating, have been since summer. Seungmin, this is Chan and Jisung, the reasons behind every headache I have. That’s Bambam, he’s Chan’s date, and I’ll let Jisung explain him.”

He points to Minho last and Jisung mentally facepalms. Of course, Changbin wants to embarrass him. 

“No need to,” Minho cuts in, waving his hand at Seungmin, “Seungmin and I have already met. We were English partners.” 

“Partners my ass,” Seungmin scoffs, “I did over seventy-five percent of the work.”

“And the remaining twenty-five I did was the best part of the presentation.”

“You weren’t even there when we presented because you were getting stabbed behind the agriculture building!” 

“An acceptable excuse, I think.” Minho’s blinding smile stands out against the harsh lights, mixes of bright colors falling over his face. For a minute, the bass doesn’t bother Jisung, the bodies on the floor and the stuffy atmosphere are all background noise to this boy. It should be harder to take his walls down, but it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done.

“Well, now that we all know each other, I’m going to go grab us some waters because the punch has at least an entire bottle of vodka.” Changbin excuses himself, pushing back through the bodies he just came from. Seungmin takes a seat across from them, chatting happily with Bambam. 

An hour or so passes, the small group of them engaged in a debate about whether cereal is a soup. At some point, Jeongin came and joined them with his date, a boy Jisung has never before seen in his life. The boy’s name is Jaemin and he very quickly eliminates any awkwardness they may have brought to the table, his personality matching very well with the group. 

Changbin returns with an armful of water bottles for the table, the arrival of them creating a temporary moment of peace before another debate sparks. Minho swears to hell and back a hotdog is not a sandwich. Their table is arguably the loudest around them, but they don’t give it a thought.

Felix dances over, Hyunjin in tow and heads straight for Jisung. The bouncy blond leans down, still moving to the beat that’s swallowed the rest of their peers.

“Jisung! You are a lifesaver! My English teacher _loved_ the essay and bragged about it in the workroom!” Felix twirls around, a giant smile on his face that makes him light up.

“Glad she liked it, Felix. You’ve always been a tremendous writer.” Jisung winks and Felix giggles to everybody’s confusion.

“Jisung did my paper for me.” He informs them, mostly Minho, who is staring at him suspiciously. A surprised “oh” ricocheted across the circle.

“And your homework and all other assignments for the last year and a half.”

“And you kill it every time.” Felix claps him on the shoulder, shaking lightly. His laughter is contagious and overtakes the group of them quickly. There’s no room at the table for him to sit, but he makes do on the tabletop. 

“Why are you doing his assignments?” Seungmin asks, his eyes flicking to Felix momentarily. Oh yeah, they are competing for top spot. Seungmin must be pretty shocked to find out his real rival is Han Jisung.

“Felix is cool and he pays me back.” Jisung shrugs his shoulders, relaxes into his seat in a poor attempt to appear nonchalant. Seungmin’s narrowed eyes scan him from head-to-toe, taking in the sight of the _real_ competition.

“You don’t even do your own homework.” The nudge at his shoulder is from Minho and Jisung finds himself subconsciously beaming. 

“It’s about the reputation.” His hand waves in front of his face for emphasis that makes the group laugh again. The awkwardness starts to disappear yet again and the dynamic between them works well. Hyunjin has even warmed up to them, and he talks Jisung’s ear off a mile a minute. 

Minho excuses himself from the table, talking toward the back entrance without explanation. Hyunjin keeps Jisung well entertained in his absence, but he’s aware when it has been almost ten minutes and Minho hasn’t yet returned. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that Minho can take care of himself, but there’s a little voice in his head that still worries.

He waits for Hyunjin to be distracted, wrapped up in a conversation he can’t force his interest in, and sneaks away from the group. If anyone sees him leave, they don’t say anything of it. 

He doesn’t find Minho near the refreshments or the bathrooms, doesn’t find him on the dance floor or at another table. He wanders around to the back entrance, stepping out into the chilly night air. The wind bites at his cheeks, turning them red and puffy, making his eyes well up.

Minho sits just twenty feet away, on a big rock at the edge of the cliff, feet swinging over. It isn’t a far drop, he would only end up among the trees, but he doesn’t look down. Minho’s eyes are on the sky, and they never leave it.

“I was beginning to think you’d left me.” Jisung says as a greeting, and claims the spot next to his friend. Minho doesn’t look away from the sky at his arrival, but he shifts a few inches over to allow him the room.

“Technically, I did.” Is his reply. The stars reflect in his eyes, like they’re being captured and stored in those dark irises. There is nothing in the universe that rivals the beauty of Lee Minho, the night sky nor the light of day. Jisung can’t find the astounding beauty in the night sky when the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen is beside him.

“What's on your mind? You don’t seem like one to leave a party.” He speaks with hope, hope that Minho will grant him the same honesty he had earlier this night. He hopes he can grant him the same wisdom.

“I get in weird moods sometimes,” Minho says, leaning back on his palms, “like everything is just happening around me and I’m just watching it happen. It makes me feel small, like a speck of dust. The sky only reminds me that that’s exactly what I am, I don’t know why it’s calming.”

“Perhaps, it’s because it reminds you that we are all specks of dust, not just you.” Jisung watches the stars, watches them burn so far out of his reach, yet close enough to taunt him, “We’re all small compared to the universe, but our impact is reliant on other people.” 

“Is this our movie climax moment?” Minho rips his gaze from the darkened abyss, only to find another within Jisung’s eyes. The younger stares back at him, smile dancing on the corner of his lips.

“There's people watching, I don’t think we’ve hit that point just yet.” He responds and Minho’s chuckle drowns out the sound of crickets chirping and faded music. With so much happening around him, Minho remains the center of it all.

“We’ll get there eventually,” Minho stands and offers his hand, which Jisung takes without a single thought more, “I'm willing to wait for it.” 

“How long?”

“Don't test my patience.” 

They turn and find their way back inside the dance. As more and more people come off the floor for refreshments and a break, Jisung feels a pull at his jacket sleeve. He looks to his left and watches Minho nod to the dance floor. 

He grabs Minho’s wrist in an iron grip, stumbling to the dance floor and narrowly avoiding a collision with a group of freshmen. 

There’s still a fair amount of people crowding the floor, couples and friends alike all around them, but there is enough room to feel like they’re alone. The song playing is upbeat, heavy bass and EDM flowing through the speakers in the corners as they dance, laughter spilling from their lips. And right now, Jisung thinks it would be worth it. 

“Boo!” A voice says in his ear and he jumps back several feet with a shriek. Eunho stands there, joy evident on his face as he cackles. His eyes flit to Minho and he grins knowingly.

“That was such a dick move, you prick.” Jisung reaches out and shoves Eunho in the shoulder with a whine. His date, a pretty girl with a sharp face and plump lips, laughs along with them, her hands wrapped around his arm.

“Yeah, but I got you good.” Eunho replies through his laughter. He cuts himself off when he looks over at Minho and Jisung realizes for the first time that he looks angry.

“Hey,” He keeps his voice soft whilst placing his hand on Minho’s bicep, “it’s okay. It’s all good.” 

Minho sends him an incredulous look, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Hey man,” Eunho speaks up, and Jisung can’t help but think it isn’t the most intelligent decision he’s ever made, “I’m really sorry about everything that happened earlier this year. I already made amends with Jisung, but I owe you an apology too.” 

Minho stares at him, blank and guarded like he was before opening up to Jisung. His expression gives nothing away, but Jisung can tell that his mind is running right now.

“Why would I accept this apology?”

“You don’t have to.” Eunho rushes out before Jisung can say anything, “I just want you to know that I really am sorry and I’m doing my best to be a better person. That starts with apologizing to the ones I’ve hurt.”

Minho considers him for a moment, his words and expression. There’s a stretch of silence where Jisung’s grip subconsciously tightens on Minho’s bicep. Finally, he nods and steps back toward Jisung.

“So, Jisoo won queen last night, not that anybody was very surprised.”

Eunho fills them in on the game and what all they missed. It’s hardly anything either of them care about, but Jisung appreciates the effort to entertain them.

Of course, their peace couldn’t last forever. 

“Well, well, well.” Comes the irritating shrill of a familiar voice, “Look what we have here, my bro and his little boyfriend.”

Jaejoong pushes right past Eunho, gaze set on Minho. Jisung feels Minho tense under his hand and looks up to see a snarl on his lip, eyes lit ablaze. 

“Fuck off, Jaejoong.” Minho snaps, voice cold and emotionless, “Haven't you got tired of getting your ass handed to you?” 

Jaejoong laughs and advances closer.

“Look at little Minnie, all big and bad in front of a crowd,” Jaejoong laughs, it’s a sharp sound, “but that’s not what you’re really like? Is it?” 

“You talk a lot for someone who can’t fight.” Jisung bites back, instantly feeling Minho’s hand yank the back of his jacket. He pays it no mind and glares into Jaejoong’s soul.

“Aww, is your boyfriend going to come to your rescue, Minnie? How pathetic.” 

“Hey, leave them alone, man.” Eunho speaks up, tugging Jaejoong backwards by his sleeve, “They haven't done anything to you.” 

“Stay out of this, Eunho. It’s family matters.” Jaejoong smirks, looking Minho straight in the eye. Yet again, he tenses, body vibrating with barely concealed anger. Jaejoong wants him to lash out, wants him to throw the first punch. Jisung doesn’t know why, but he isn’t going to let Jaejoong get his way.

“Minho, calm down.” He whispers, “He’s trying to piss you off so you’ll swing first.”

“Seriously, cut it out. It’s not funny or cute, you’re targeting them for no reason and it’s just showing everybody else how weak and pathetic you are.” Eunho continues and Jaejoong’s attention shifts for the time being.

“Why are so defensive, Eunho? Are you like them? Are you a—“

“You finish that sentence and I’ll rip your jaw open.” Eunho shoves Jaejoong in the chest and Jisung can only watch as Jaejoong laughs and tears his fist back. 

Eunho doesn’t go down. He catches the fist right by his head and swings _hard_.

Everybody hears the impact of his punch, the sound of Jaejoong hitting the ground and Eunho wailing down on him, never letting up as the other weakly guards his own face. He isn’t stopping, even with the crowd forming around them and the blood from Jaejoong’s nose spewing.

“Come on,” Minho says, pulling Jisung backwards, “we’ve got to get out of here.” 

Eunho sends Jisung a grin as they flee out the back entrance, running down the hill to where the car is parked as fast as they can manage. They’re halfway down when Minho stops, Jisung skidding to a halt as well. 

“Nobody’s watching now.” Minho says with a grin and only a second passes before he leans in and kisses him.

It’s different from the first time, it’s just them in the woods, possibly running for their lives. It’s softer, more purposeful and Jisung doesn’t panic this time. He kisses back with everything in him, all the hesitation gone from his body.

“We’ve actually got to run though.” Minho says when he pulls away and then he’s grabbing Jisung’s wrist again and heading for the car. 

They don’t talk about it, any of it, not immediately. The adrenaline has faded now and there’s only the weight of Jaejoong’s words rushing through their minds. Jisung won’t ask what it means, because he isn’t sure he wants to have his suspicions confirmed.

The silence doesn’t stew for long. When they reach the bottom of the mountain, Minho pulls over on the side of the road and puts the car in park. There is nothing and nobody around them, but the silence stretches on.

“So, is this the part where we _really_ kill each other?” His lame attempt at joking falls just a bit short. Still, Minho laughs quietly and takes the moment of normalcy he is offered.

“I did say I wanted a movie climax moment,” He forces a grin, stained at the corners with the same tension in his shoulders, “but I don’t think it’s that kind of movie.” 

“You know, in English class, they call this the falling action sequence.” 

“Why must you keep talking?” 

Jisung chuckles and it’s easy to pretend for a moment that there’s nothing to talk about. But he’s done pretending, done ignoring the obvious. Whatever is to come his way, he’ll be ready to face it. Maybe not right now, but soon.

“Jaejoong is my brother.” Minho starts before Jisung can even say anything. The silence has returned, fills the car like rising water. But the thing about rising water is that when it reaches the top, there’s nowhere else to go and you either sink or swim. 

“Step-brother, technically. His dad and my mom are… together.” 

“Well, that’s certainly…” His words fail him, thoughts unable to form themselves into a sentence, “. . .new.”

“It’s why he targeted me from day one,” Minho shakes his head as the words exit his mouth, “he didn’t like that my mom and I moved in with them.”

“I thought he targeted you because of…” Jisung trails off, careful not to strike a nerve, but Minho just stares back at him in confusion, “what happened at your old school.”

“Nothing happened at my old school, Jisung.” Minho looks beyond bewildered, “I transferred here because my mom moved in with her new boy toy and his son, I didn’t have a choice.” 

“But… Chan said the football team from your old school told everybody you were gay, I thought you had been outed.” It’s Jisung’s turn to be confused. 

“And who was his source on that? Jaejoong?” Minho scoffs, the palm of his hand smacking the steering wheel, “No, that fucker targeted me and told everybody I was gay to isolate me because he can’t get over his dad moving on. Remember that day at the beginning of the year when I came in with my face beaten?” 

Jisung nods, recalling his concern for the older. That was before they knew each other, before _this._ Now, the implication of what happened makes his blood boil.

“Jaejoong jumped me on the way home. Then, he went and told daddykins I got in a fight and he jumped in to “save” me. Fucking bastard.” 

“Does he…” God, please let him be wrong about this, “does he do that often?”

Minho looks surprised and is quick to shake his head. “No, just the once. He knows he can’t take me one-on-one, he only was able to because he caught me off guard that day.” 

“You’re okay, right?” Jisung asks, his nerves getting the better of him, “Like, you’re safe in that house, right?” 

“I’m safe, Sung.” Minho’s smile is small but thankful and he takes a deep breath, “My dad died when I was ten, it’s not something that’s sensitive to talk about, but I’ve had a hard time reconnecting with my mom since then. I stayed with Shownu and the guys at the dojo most days, slept there most nights too. There’s seven of them in total, they all took good care of me.”

“How long has your mom been with his dad?” 

Jisung watches Minho grimace. 

“A few years, but I’ve never had to deal with Jaejoong the way I do now. He’s the one that got me grounded this week because he saw me climb back in through the window one too many times.” He laughs and settles back in his seat, seemingly more relieved than anything, “So, there. You know everything now.”

“Well, not everything.” Jisung interjects and he grins when Minho turns his head in confusion, “I still don’t know what you do with all those gum wrappers.”

Minho stares at him incredulously in silence for a few moments. The laughter spills out of him all at once, and it’s so joyful and uncontrolled that Jisung entirely forgets what he’s saying. 

“About that,” Minho says through his giggles, “I have something to show you.”

The air is lighter when Minho pulls back onto the road, the radio not just serving as a backdrop to their thoughts, instead the center of it all as they ride through the deserted streets of an abandoned town. Jisung likes this more than anything, being totally alone with Minho. And on any other day that would be frightening to him, but it isn’t today. Today, he lets himself want because even if he’s hurt in the end, it will be worth this.

“Hey!” Minho yells over the music that he’s turned loud enough to warrant a ticket. They’re at a stoplight for the moment and Jisung glances over at him curiously. Minho keeps one hand on the wheel and the other behind Jisung’s head when he leans in and kisses him again. 

Then the stoplight turns green and he’s speeding down the open road once again. Jisung makes a mental note to talk about that once everything has calmed down, but he isn’t in a rush to do so. Minho has made it plenty obvious what his motivation behind doing so is and Jisung isn’t subtle himself. It’s all a matter of time.

They pull up to the vacant driveway of Minho's house and for the first time, Jisung goes through the front doors to get to his room. Instead of going down the hall to where he is almost certain Minho’s room is, the older turns them the opposite way, toward where a locked door is at the end of the hall. 

He takes out a key and unlocks the door, ushering Jisung inside with a huge grin. The room is covered with artwork, none of which are crafted from paints or pencil. No, the art is made up of cut construction paper glued to a canvas, of puzzle pieces on postcards, fake flower petals inside a cut water bottle. A canvas sits in the middle of the room, catching the light. 

He gets closer and sees the many squares of gum wrappers Minho collects, glued to the canvas. There’s blue wrappers too, the ones Minho has been chewing recently. The silver is the backdrop of the work, the blue wrappers create the outline of a face. Upon closer inspection, Jisung realizes the outline is _him._ His cheeks, his eyes, his smile.

“I was never a good painter and drawing never really satisfied me so I turned to abstract pieces. I didn’t know who I was making until it was finished.” Minho looks between Jisung and the work in awe, whether of himself or of Jisung is unknown.

“This is… this is gorgeous, Minho.” He’s afraid to get too close to it, but from where he stands he can see everything. The shape of his lips, his nose and his eyes, everything is an exact replica of him. He wants to ask how Minho was even able to create something so accurate.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask about it. I’ve been working on it for months.” He runs the tips of his fingers along the wrappers, silently comparing every detail to the actual Jisung in front of him. He did a pretty good job if he says so himself.

“I don’t know how or if I’m going to get into college, but I know I want to make art no matter what I do.” 

Jisung stares at the pieces around the room. All are created from different things, none drawn or painted. Some of the works are strange and some are downright beautiful, but all of them show Minho’s essence within them.

“Minho!” A high-pitched voice rings out from downstairs before Jisung can say anything in response and Minho scrambles up from the floor. He moves the finished canvas to the corner of the room, and pulls Jisung to his feet, pushing him toward the open window.

“That was your mom, wasn't it?” Jisung laughs as he throws one leg over the window sill. He’s done this same song and dance before. 

“Yes, it was.”

“She’s pissed, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is.” 

Jisung swings his other leg over, holding onto the window sill with his hands. He leans back into the room, a smirk gracing his face.

“You weren’t ungrounded yet, were you?” 

“No,” Minho says with a laugh, “I wasn't.”

Minho leans in and kisses him as the sound of footsteps gets louder and louder and when he pulls away, he grabs for a t-shirt and a pair of jeans he left beside the window and removes his jacket.

“We’re going to talk about that at some point.” Jisung says before he drops from the window and hears Minho’s whispered “okay” as he does. He only gets a couple steps away from the exterior of the house before Minho’s suit follows him into the bushes and he takes the opportunity to fold them up and stash them where they won’t get dirty. 

From the ground, he can hear Minho’s mom burst in the room, as Minho greets her in a casual and much too innocent manner.

They’ll talk tomorrow, but for now, Jisung has to run back to his house before Jaejoong sees him.

+++

They don’t talk about it tomorrow, or the next day.

Minho successfully convinced his mom that Jaejoong was crazy and he wasn’t even at the dance, meaning he and Jisung were extra careful when talking about it. Still, Minho admits that _maybe_ Eunho has earned himself a portion of redemption. And with another protector of the gays walking their halls, Minho and Jisung have more time to actually give a shit about their schoolwork.

Minho’s applying to an art college and he just might have a shot at getting in. It doesn’t hurt that the college is a whopping forty-five minutes away from Jisung’s house (thirty-five if he speeds) and placed in an entirely different area than where Jaejoong’s applied. 

They don’t talk about Saturday much at all throughout the week, except for the fact that Jisung is now helping Minho with his next piece. They disguise their meetups as “study sessions” for the sake of Minho’s mom. But Saturday doesn’t come up until the next Friday, at the football game.

Minho is allowed out because of his high scores throughout the week and he convinces his mom it will be a new pattern for him if she lets him continue his study sessions. Of course, going to the game doesn’t mean they actually watch it. 

Jisung receives his payment from Felix at the concession stand, a pack of rainbow straws in return for a completed lab report. Hyunjin comes over too and chats away for ten minutes before Felix comes looking for him. 

Minho and Jisung stand up at the top, arms folded over the railings of the bleachers as the game carries on. The stands cheer and shout and scream but Jisung doesn’t pay it any mind. He won’t ignore it anymore, won’t pretend it doesn’t exist. This time, he’ll say it.

“Hey Minho,” He isn’t sure how to phrase it, how to even ask such a thing. Should he be vague or straightforward? Should he wait for him to get it or tell him outright? None of that matters when he’s spluttering like an idiot the way he’s doing now. There’s so many prompts and ways to bring it up in his brain.

And yet all he manages to say is, “What the fuck is going on?”

Minho just laughs at him, like Jisung is the epitome of comedy as he replies, “What?”

There’s fondness beneath those eyes, a fondness that’s only ever mirrored when Minho looks at Jeongin. But the fondness is different, no less sincere, but it is not the exact same reflected when Minho looks at Jeongin. This fondness is specific to Jisung and he can’t figure out why to save his own ass.

“Are we...?” His voice just cracked, why did his voice just crack, “I mean, like, you know?”

Minho shakes his head, but he’s smiling. If Jisung didn’t know any better, he’d think he was getting played like a fiddle right now. The only thing that negates that thought is the soft look he’s receiving. 

“It’s just me, Jisung,” Minho’s voice is soothing, “whatever you want to say, you can take as much time as you need to get it out.” 

And that’s easier said than done, but it gives him more stalling room. For the second, he tries to imagine he is at home, reciting this speech in his bathroom mirror like he had last night and this morning, like he had before he left his house to come here. It’s easier when all he can see is his own reflection.

“What are we?”

Minho doesn’t look surprised, instead he just grins. His gaze makes Jisung uneasy for some reason, that feeling building in his stomach again.

“Whatever you want to be.” He adds a shrug just for emphasis. Jisung is going to implode.

“Are we, like ... boyfriends?” 

Minho chuckles again. He doesn’t reply immediately, instead he folds his arms on the banister and leans into them and Jisung finds himself copying the movement. There’s no silence around them, only loud cheering and the booming of an announcer's voice between them.

“I like you, Jisung.” Minho says, “That only means what you want it to mean. I’m not concerned with what label is put on it, there doesn’t even have to be one. It’s just us.” 

“Just us?” Jisung leans against his arms, feeling a lot lighter than he did minutes ago, “Yeah, I like that idea.”

A beat or so passed between them where Minho just grins and cradles his face in his palm. Jisung is grinning too, but there’s a thought in his head and he won’t let hesitation stop it.

“But I wouldn’t mind calling you my boyfriend either.”

Minho giggles again, and moves closer. 

“I wouldn’t mind calling you a boyfriend either.” 

Jisung scoffs and mocks offensive, his hand flying over his heart and his eyes roll. He pushes Minho in the chest, not hard enough to send his body backwards but hard enough to make his point.

“ _A_ boyfriend, as if you have options.” 

“Oh, I most certainly do have options,” Minho chuckles and wraps his arm around Jisung with a smug grin, “but I chose you. Isn’t that funny?” 

“You’re an asshole.” Jisung says back, not at all willing to pull away,, “You’re just lucky I like that in a man.”

+++

Three months.

It’s been three months since he and Minho started dating. Three months and his dickhead friends _still_ don't believe him when he says they are.

“There’s no way,” Changbin says at his insistence one day, “no way you grew a pair and actually asked him that. Maybe if you’d said _he_ asked _you_ , your story would’ve been believable, but not when you lead with such an obvious lie.”

Jisung does the only logical thing he can think to do at the moment, which is call Minho. However, the older must’ve caught on to what he was doing, because he laughs it off with a quick and vague denial. Jisung is furious and punches him as hard as he can in the arm when he sees him next.

“You little shit, you just wanted to embarrass me, didn’t you?” 

Minho clutches his stomach, completely succumbing to his laughter. Jisung pouts at his boyfriend (God, he will never get tired of saying that) as he loses himself in his fit of giggles. Minho straightens when he’s done and wraps Jisung up in his arms.

“Aww, don't pout, babe.” He buries Jisung’s face in his chest, hand coming up to rub circles on his back automatically, “And yes, I was just doing it to be an ass.” 

“You succeeded.” Jisung grumbles into Minho's chest and he raises his head with a suspicious glare, “How come it’s so hard to believe I actually asked you? This is insulting beyond belief.” 

“To be fair, you were the one who didn’t want to acknowledge anything that was happening until the very last minute.” Minho shrugs and kisses the top of his head, releasing Jisung from his grip.

“You’ll see,” Jisung says, pointing a finger at his boyfriend as he fixes his hair, “I’m going to convince them.” 

And so another month carries on with Jisung failing to convince his dickhead friends and his asshole boyfriend doing nothing to help. Chan and Changbin think it’s sad at this point, how badly he tries to convince them, and it frustrates Jisung to the core. Minho knows this but he doesn’t give Jisung a break.

One night, four months they’ve been dating, Minho is over while his mom is away. Minho got accepted into his art college and his entrance piece will be yet another abstract mess that ends up portraying Jisung in the end. He hasn’t told Jisung that yet, but it isn’t like it’ll be surprising. He can’t seem to make anything these days that doesn’t center around the boy.

They’re sitting on the couch in Jisung’s living room, _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ playing on the screen while Jisung dozes off on Minho’s shoulder. These are his favorite kinds of nights, with Minho’s arm wrapped around him, laying on his shoulder and falling asleep on the couch like a little kid. Sometimes, Minho even carries him up to bed and sleeps on the couch, despite Jisung telling him many times he’s welcome to share the bed if he ever wants to.

He’s falling in and out of sleep and just before he drifts off, he feels Minho shift. It isn’t big enough to wake him and he falls deep asleep on his shoulder.

And he wakes up in the morning, to the sunlight streaming through the windows and his boyfriend wrapped around him as they lie on the couch, and to sixty likes on an _Instagram_ post he’s tagged in. It’s a picture of him dozing off on Minho’s shoulder, a picture posted by Minho himself. The caption just makes him snort.

_Yeah, we’re dating, you nosy fucks. 🙂_

+++

“Remind me why I started playing superhero.” 

Minho’s voice echoes through the empty halls. Everybody is in class right now, stuck in their third period, but Minho and Jisung roam the halls as is their habit. The older of the two is leaned against the lockers near the courtyard, mint gum in his mouth and another stick in his hand. Jisung takes it when he approaches.

“Who else was going to?” 

“You. You were. I should’ve just let you do it alone.” He rolls his eyes, falling into step with Jisung as they make their way to the agriculture building. Jisung’s actually been in there now, knows what goes on behind the wall he breaks faces against.

“You should’ve. But, you just had to know the handsome stranger, didn’t you?” He bumps their shoulders.

“The first words you said to me included you screaming “homosexual” at me. I wouldn’t say that was your finest moment.” Minho gives him a deadpan look. 

“You were swinging your fist at my face! I had to do _something!”_ Jisung protests, crossing his arms over his chest. Minho chuckles and ruffles his hair from the back. 

“I should’ve done it long before then.”

Jisung groans as they round the corner to the agriculture building. Exactly where Eunho said he’d be, a freshman is rounding the corner at the same time. The freshman knows immediately what is going on. Jisung looks at Minho.

“You’re an asshole.”

“You like that in a man.” 

  
  



End file.
